Meet Cate (9 page)

Cate picked up her cell phone, scrolling through her contacts. Melissa answered on the second ring.

"Hi."

"Mel, I've got a week's worth of Halloween shows." Cate wasted no time, as excited as a small child as each hour crept closer to Christmas morning.

There was a sigh.

"Melissa?"

"Cate," Melissa answered, after a beat. "It's not like you to wait until the last minute."

"It just came to me. There's time."

"We're thinking about Christmas now."

"Halloween is only a few weeks away. We always do them live. Do you want to hear my ideas or not?"

Melissa took a silent breath and shot for a calm tone, "Yes. Of course. But let's talk about a personal assistant again. It's more than time."

"I would need a couple."

"It's not about organization, or time management," Melissa spoke kindly. "You're a genius at both, I know. It's more on a level with an incredible amount of work. Let's talk about farming some out."

"Is it too much?"

"No," Melissa thought aloud. "Never too much work. It's a sign of you growing. You'd−
we'd−
be able to do so much more if our energy was on what we each do best. Hire someone to−"

"I'll think about it," Cate interrupted.

"Why are you afraid?" Melissa asked quietly.

There was silence.

"Is this about Tom?" Melissa waited patiently, knowing now that Cate was hurting.

"Not hiring a PA?" Cate laughed hollowly. "No, that's not about Tom."

"Everything else is, though," Melissa surmised.

"I−" Cate started to tell her friend everything. The words got stuck as they formed in her throat. Trust was a big part of PTSD. There wasn't always a lot of understanding. People often felt, as much as they loved the person, as much kindness and empathy as they themselves had, that it wasn't a
real
disorder. There was a tendency to offer solutions that wouldn't always work; to suggest leaving when that wasn't always right (it left the diagnosed person struggling alone); and to sigh helplessly, underlining the already worthless feelings someone might associate with being a caregiver to PTSD. "I'll think about it, okay?"

Melissa often offered more sympathy, more caring than Cate could always appreciate. "Tell me about your Halloween ideas then."

Cate didn't hesitate. Melissa listened to her friend talk, Cate's voice slowly returning to typical, and began to understand a little bit more about what the woman needed.

Later, Melissa sat on her porch. She stared out over the gently rolling hills of the golf course to the view of the ocean she loved so much. The waves were endless. The blue of the water seemed to match its depth somehow.

Whenever Melissa rounded the bend on Putnam Avenue, that first full view of the ocean always took her breath away. Something about how patient it was, how vast, how beautiful. It was sharp and full, enduring and blue. Her home−it was always her home.

The smooth cement floor of the porch was warm from the sun still, even this late in fall. Melissa kicked her feet out of the worn flip-flops she'd slid on at her door, stretching her long, thin legs. Settling back, she tossed her bare feet up on the porch railing, crossing them at the ankles, where the setting sun hit them full blast. Music from the window behind her whispered across the air, melodious and soft. The glass of wine Melissa had carried outside sat waiting on a small table at her elbow.

She wore a soft-blue cardigan, three gentle clips buttoned at the top then falling loose to her tiny waist. Closer to her skin lay a soft tank top of the same color. Faded from repeated washings, Levi's hugged her hips and kissed her tan ankles. Her waist-length pin-straight blonde-streaked hair cascaded behind her shoulders, bangs just hiding her eyebrows. When she smiled, spoke or laughed, those bangs would dance, highlighting big blue eyes and lashes the length of butterfly wings.

Melissa and Cate had been friends for more than ten years. They'd met at a cocktail reception, both admiring the same work from an up-and-coming artist, a young woman from the area: Jessica. Jess had threatened to sell them both rights to the same painting, her eyes full of laughter, the joy of the moment evident on her glowing face. In the end, a friendship grew between the three women. Jessica sold Melissa the original and Cate another, similar piece. Each of the three walked away happy with the memory. Both Melissa and Cate kept the canvases in their offices, as a symbol of beautiful things that might grow−given the chance.

Jess would be great to have on the show in the new year, Melissa thought idly. She'd tell
her
assistant, Mary, tomorrow. Mary would call Jessica and set everything up. Mary was a God-send.

Melissa had vowed when she'd hired her to give Mary office hours unless it was an emergency. In her opinion, anything that couldn't wait should be handled herself−it created a situation where her self-respect stayed intact. And Mary's gratitude felt good. In the beginning, Melissa had paid Mary a huge amount of money to do the smallest things for her. Mary had quickly risen to a place of trust where she'd earned access to several accounts including one of Melissa's payrolls.

When she showed a distinct love of organization, Melissa assigned Mary to her studio office where Mary efficiently went to work. Soon Melissa's computer system, her files and her office hummed. Mary had gifted Melissa time, order and more peace than the busy executive had ever dreamed she'd see again with the schedule she kept. It was a perfect union, and Melissa was never more filled with gratitude. She simply wanted the same for Cate. She understood the pitfalls Cate was afraid of, or felt she did, Melissa thought, as she slowly rose, hungry, but not wanting to leave the peaceful view, the gentle, warm breeze and the soft air.

Rising, she sighed wistfully and moved toward the heavy wooden front door, open to the breeze. She left her flip flops where they lay, still in the sunshine. In the sunny kitchen, she faced the same view she'd just left through an impressive window. On the spacious island, she found a crisp red apple, in the cabinet, cashew butter. Digging a single knife out of the utensil drawer, her bare feet cool on the tiled floor, Melissa paused a moment, staring out the large window.

She'd call Alex, talk to her. Then Melissa would ask Mary to spend the day with Cate−no one could say no to Mary's effervescence.

Now Melissa only had to figure out how to help her friend with one more problem in this life: Tom. She was a little bit afraid it was going to take all Cate had. And even that might not be enough.

Cate, meanwhile, was singing. Her world was at peace, her heart busy. There was nothing, she thought,
nothing
like the feeling of a job well done, of being ahead of the game. Cate refused to remember a busy woman such as herself was never truly done being prepared. Still, it felt good.

She'd called each of her beautiful children to check in and tell them she loved them. She'd talked to a jovial Mike. She'd listened contentedly and replied to messages from Clark and Joan.

Winding up a call with Cindy, Cate sat on the wide couch in front of the fireplace, an old fashioned rotary dial phone to her ear. Cate twisted the springy cord around her fingers as she listened to her friend's lilting voice. Wide pillows of various sizes sat behind her, adding to the overall comfort of the room. Cate often thought she would have loved to professionally stage rooms.

Cindy, a soft-spoken best-selling author, was telling Cate all about her new book idea when Merry alerted. Cindy's quiet, confident voice comforted and inspired Cate. She always sounded the same; nothing could knock Cindy from who she was.

"Hold on," Cate requested. "Someone's at the door."

Cate placed the phone down. Her bare feet carried her through the house via the ample main hallway. Soon it would be time for thick, woolen socks. The floor, although in a warm house, would be no match for the cold, snowy winter forecasters were calling for.

Peeking through the peephole, swiping a chunk of chestnut hair out of her eyes, up on her tallest toes, Cate's heart dropped.

Brown hair, blue eyes. It was Tom.

Cate swung the broad door open after entertaining a brief fantasy of select hearing loss, amnesia and just pure death.

"Tom−"

"Hi," Tom said, sheepishly. The two stared at each other. "Can I come in?"

"Sure..." Surprised, relieved, Cate opened the door fully, gesturing for Tom to enter the large foyer. He wiped his feet on the mat, not removing his worn boots, then stepped into the house cautiously.

Cate's heart sank. His actions always gave his feelings away, and his fearful entry told her so much. "I'm on the phone..." Gesturing, her hand fell to her side, lost.

Tom only nodded.

Cate turned, walking back the way she'd come, Tom following slowly. In the living room, she picked up the phone, a robot. "Cindy, I have to go. I love you."

Cate listened intently for a minute, said a few more quiet words, then gently replaced the phone in its cradle. Turning to Tom, she tried for casual and fell short. "How are you?"

Tom's face said the question was too personal but he tried to smile. "I'm okay." Here he paused, stuck. Finally, he asked, "You?"

"I'm fine, Tom." His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. His hair was graying and slightly longer than he normally wore it.

Awkward and clumsy suddenly, Cate moved toward the kitchen.

"Would you like something?"

"No."

Stung at his cold tone, Cate reached for a tall glass and filled it with water and ice. Merry, underfoot, bumped her leg. Cate's hand touched Merry's velvety head, grateful for the strength of the dog.

"You're back then?" All her questions sounded like inquisitions to her.

"I am."

"Did you have a nice trip?" Forced formality had set in, somewhere around their divorce and his diagnosis. Her husband had checked out a long time ago. In front of her stood his shell, broken and lost.

"I had to get away," Tom said, as if that explained everything.

There was silence. Then, "Is there anything you need?" Cate spoke kindly. She ignored the urge to pepper Tom with questions, knowing from experience he'd close off even more.

Tom shook his head. Tears briefly formed in his expressive eyes before he looked away. Cate waited.

She turned to the shiny refrigerator, treating the visit as if Tom were an old friend. She poured a tall glass of sweet iced tea, turning and placing it on the island in front of her. Washing her hands with delicious, foamy soap,

she added a chunk of fresh lemon. Next, Cate rinsed strawberries, placing them on a plate and adding a hunk of good cheese for herself.

Tom watched her every move, his eyes sad. Cate searched her frightened brain for words, any words, to make him feel at ease.

"Do you want to sit?" she asked him, without looking up from her work. She was thinking about melting rich milk chocolate and dripping it over the strawberries. When she heard Tom fall into a chair, she began to casually talk.

"I just worked up a whole slew of Halloween shows."

"That's good."

She paused, in case he added words. When he didn't, Cate continued, "Al and Nic are great. I just spoke to them this afternoon."

"Yeah."

"I was just in LA−" Hearing herself touch on that fateful trip, Cate's throat closed, but Tom only acknowledged that she'd spoken. He didn't seem to register the words she'd used. "It was lovely weather."

Her eyes swept the room as she talked, taking everything in quickly.

Tom's shoulders relaxed a little at the safe topic. He sat facing a fireplace full of charred wood and ash from Cate's last fire. Embarrassed, Cate realized she'd forgotten to tidy it. Usually, she would've added tea lights, candles and a sconce with arms like beautiful branches to hold them all. When did Tom become such a privileged guest, causing her to look at her own home through such sordid eyes?

"Your house has been fine," Cate forced a laugh. "I couldn't figure out−I've been working on the back deck and Merry has been staring due north all weekend. Finally, it hit me, she was staring at your house. Weren't you? Good girl," she bumped the big dog with her leg gently. The pup stared up at Cate with devoted eyes. Long jewels of drool rolled out either side of her mouth, inviting more strawberries. "Good girl."

Tom's laugh echoed Cate's as he rose, full of stilted joviality. His eyes didn't match the feeling as they searched hers out. His heart wasn't in it. He moved toward Cate, his blue eyes now on the pretty plate of strawberries.

Cate nudged the dish closer to him and Tom stopped before the island. He shook his head no even as he watched the shiny wet berries.

"I'm thinking about adding chocolate." This time Cate's laugh was more sincere. For a moment, their eyes met−connected−two people who'd shared a lifetime and knew one another.

Then Tom looked away. "I'm in trouble, Cate."