To Have and to Hold

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To Have and to Hold Page 33

by Fern Michaels

“Then I thought I’d go back home and start a new life. Maybe I can buy my dad’s old house in Westfield. I guess if you have enough money, you can buy almost anything.”

  “Not always. And after you do that?”

  “Maybe sign up for some flying lessons, using the Harry name. Maybe I can even get a job at the Linden airport. I can try Newark, too. If there’s one thing I know about, it’s planes. I’ll have Jake. I’ll get a bike and pedal past your old house. If I have any money left, I might buy yours, too. This way Jake and I can pedal by and sit on your front porch and pretend you’re going to come out and chase us away.”

  Kate bit down on her lower lip so hard she could taste her own blood. She wanted to cry. “That was one of your dreams. I don’t understand. You said you weren’t in love with me. Why would you want to sit on my old front porch?”

  “It’s one of the nicest memories. Back then things were simple. We were kids and pretty damn innocent. I don’t think it’s ever going to get any better than that. If you give me that old Betty Crocker cookbook of yours, the one with the pocket in the back, I’ll be okay.”

  She did cry then, great hacking, gulping sobs. Patrick put his arm around her, pushing the button on the VCR at the same time. “I think you’re going to miss me, Kate. Who are you going to miss, me or Harry?”

  “Shut up, Patrick. Just shut up, do you hear me?”

  “With this hearing aid I can hear—”

  “Go to hell!” Kate cried, jerking free of his arms. She stomped her way down the hall to the bedroom. She slammed the door and locked it. Howling like a banshee, she threw herself on the bed. When she’d exhausted her tears, she rolled over on the bed and reached for the phone. Not caring who was listening, not caring about anything, she punched out Gus’s private number at the New York Times. “Hi,” she said, “I’m calling from home.” The word home would set the tone for the balance of the conversation. “How are you doing with your Pulitzer?” It was a standing joke with them. She forced a chuckle into her voice she didn’t feel.

  “How’s Harry?” Gus asked.

  “Harry had a bad day today, but he also had a good day. He went out and bought a dog. He calls it Jake. Ellie is going to be married in February. Romantic that she is, she wants the wedding on Valentine’s Day. Betsy is doing so well running the business that I don’t bother calling in anymore. I’m thinking of taking up ceramics.”

  “God!” Gus said.

  “Maybe I’ll hook rugs.”

  “God,” Gus said again. “You sound nasally, are you catching cold?”

  “I think so,” Kate lied. “I’m thinking about buying an airplane.”

  “Do you plan on flying it, or are you just going to look at it?” Gus asked.

  “Look at it. More or less. I have this fear of heights.”

  “Me too. I mean I have a fear of heights, too. We have a lot in common, don’t you think?”

  “I always thought so. It’s been almost a year since ... since Harry came back. The girls are planning an anniversary party. Streamers, balloons, that kind of thing.”

  “Sounds like . . . fun.”

  “Depending on your point of view, it could be, I guess.”

  “Kate—”

  “Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ve been thinking about you all day, and when I do that, I have to make sure my friends are okay. Go back to your Pulitzer writing.”

  “Kate—”

  “Good-bye, Gus. I’ll call again.”

  Kate waited until he broke the connection, then stayed on the phone a few seconds longer. She cleared her throat. “Whoever you are, you son of a bitch, I hope you go straight to hell.” Then she put her finger between her lips and whistled the way Patrick had taught her when they were kids back in Westfield. “I hope your eardrum is ruptured!” she cried before she slammed the receiver back into the cradle. There were times, like now, when she wondered if she was paranoid. Patrick assured her she wasn’t, that there really was some faceless man sequestered somewhere listening every time the phone was picked up. He believed it, so she believed it.

  Kate threw her suit skirt and the crimson blouse in the corner and donned a pair of sweats and sneakers. Maybe she could snitch a couple of brownies if Della hadn’t given up on the idea of baking them. She did love her sweets.

  The movie playing on the VCR was Private Benjamin. Patrick was laughing while he fondled Jake’s ears. Della, she could see at a glance, was removing the brownies from the tray. She snitched one then, dropped it immediately when she burned her fingers.

  “Serves you right,” Della snapped. “Load the dishwasher.”

  “What are we cooking for Patrick’s party?” Kate asked.

  “Don’t you mean banquet? Your daughters have a two-page list. If you look at it carefully, you’ll see the desserts are first. Four-layer chocolate cake, homemade pineapple ice cream, ambrosia, cherry cobbler. Shrimp cocktail, lobster bisque, roast capon, prime rib, candied sweet potatoes, string beans and almonds, garden salad, homemade dinner rolls, and there’s a question mark next to the creamed corn. I have no idea what that means. Betsy wants pickled beets and eggs with lots of onions in the juice. Be sure to use balsamic vinegar, she writes. What would you like?”

  “An Italian hot dog. Coleslaw and a slice of that four-tier chocolate cake. How about you?”

  “A taco would be nice.”

  “How long do you think it will take us to make all this?” Kate asked curiously.

  “It depends on how long it takes us to blow up the balloons,” Della grumbled.

  “Oh, shit,” Kate said. “Della, I want to thank—”

  “Kate, take these brownies in to Patrick. Two of them are for Jake. You better hand-feed him so he doesn’t get it on the carpet.”

  Patrick smiled at her as she handed him the plate of brownies. She started to break one apart for Jake. “I’ll do that, Kate. I want him to know I’m the one who feeds him. You don’t mind, do you?” he said, fondling Jake’s ears.

  “No, of course not.” But she did mind, and she wondered why that was. She watched man and dog for another minute before she got up and went to her room.

  Kate rose early the day of the party. For days she and Della had cooked and cleaned. The girls would come up together around five. She made coffee and carried it out to the deck. A year ago today she’d thought her world had come to an end. She felt proud of herself. She’d had the same feeling the day she received her college diploma. Well done, Kate Starr. She patted her shoulder, tears burning her eyes.

  “The early bird gets the worm,” Patrick said quietly. “Listen, you were right—it’s a wonderful, happy sound. And I wanted to shoot them. I don’t know too many sounds that are as pleasing as the chirp of a bird. I want to thank you for not letting me ... and last night, too. Jake woke me up in the middle of the night to let him out. He’s a quick learner, better than I was.”

  Kate smiled. “But you started out with a tremendous handicap. I’m very proud of you, Patrick.”

  “That means a lot to me, because I know you mean it.”

  “I bought you a present,” Kate said, suddenly shy with her husband’s compliment. “If you wait here, I’ll get it.”

  “I have something for you, too,” Patrick said. Like kids they raced into the house to get their presents for one another. Kate returned to the deck first and handed hers over when Patrick came out.

  “It’s kind of silly,” she said.

  “A giant Slurpee cup. For my drive cross-country. This is great, Kate.”

  “Are you going to come back, Patrick?”

  “Nah, me and Jake . . . we’re gonna be nomads.” It was a lie, but Kate didn’t know that. “I really didn’t know what to give you. It would be pretty stupid of me to buy you something with your money, since I haven’t made the effort to work out that account I have.” From under his Izod pullover he withdrew four spiral-bound notebooks. He handed them over as though he were offering her a priceless gift. And it was a pricel
ess gift, it was twenty years of his life he was giving to his wife, who could never be his wife again.

  “It’s all there, Kate. Every single minute of my life for the last twenty years. You were right, I needed to write it down. It ... it’s right to the minute, right up to the part where I pull out of the driveway at dawn tomorrow. It’s all I have to give you.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’ll . . . take good care of it.”

  “You don’t have to read it,” Patrick said. “It might upset you.”

  “I want to.”

  “Okay, but you don’t have to. Thanks to you, I’m going to be okay.”

  “I know that, Patrick. I always knew that. I thought you knew that I knew that,” she babbled.

  “You’re repeating yourself,” he said, smiling. “I thought you said you went to college.”

  “Hey, you win some and you lose some. Want to go for a walk?”

  “Yeah, I’d like that. Jake likes that Gucci collar and leash you got him.”

  “He deserves it. He’ll be the only dog in Westfield with a Gucci collar and leash.”

  “Hell, I know that, but will anyone in Westfield even know who Gucci is? By the way, who is he?”

  “Some guy who makes shoes and pocketbooks. I think he’s in jail.” Patrick let out a loud guffaw. “I’ll be with you in a minute. I want to put your . . . gift in my room.”

  “If we’re walking five miles, make sure you go to the bathroom. I get embarrassed when you pee in the bushes.”

  “Nag, nag, nag,” Patrick said.

  Kate finished reading Patrick’s journal at quarter to five in the morning. She’d read straight through the night once the party was over and everyone had gone to bed. She closed the last one, her cheeks wet with tears, and carried the book to her desk. She took a three-minute shower, dressed in clean sweats, and marched out to the kitchen. She opened Della’s door, tiptoed inside, and bent over to whisper in the older woman’s ear.

  In the kitchen she turned on the percolator and then raced back to her room. She could hear both showers running, which meant Patrick and the girls were up. She sat down at the desk, drew paper and pen from the drawer. She bit down on her lower lip, wrote steadily for five minutes.

  “Guess it’s time for me to be on my way,” Patrick said with a catch in his voice. “I didn’t think it was going to be so hard to say good-bye. Maybe I shouldn’t say it.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” Betsy said. “I’m going with you.”

  “Me too,” Ellie said.

  Patrick walked over to his wife, took the bag out of her hand, and handed it to Della. “No, Kate, you can’t come. A month from now, maybe a year from now, you’d hate me. It wasn’t meant to be. Look, I like you. I even love you. But . . . you don’t fit into my life anymore. I can’t fit into yours. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s the way it is. It was your job to get me to this place in time. I can handle it now. If I falter, I’ll give you a call and you can pep-talk me. Jake here will get me over the rough spots. Don’t cry, Kate, you look ugly when you cry.

  “I’m not taking the girls away from you. We’re going to get really acquainted. I need to spend time with them, to get to know them. I promise to send them back.”

  “Oh, Patrick, this isn’t right,” Kate wailed. “I want to go with you. We’re a family again. Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you don’t have the guts to do it. Yes, right now, this minute, you want to go with me, but it won’t work. We’re two different people. I’m not the old Patrick anymore. I’m Harry what’s his name and you’re Kate. You grew wings, Kate, and you need to fly. Call that guy and tell him you’re on your way. Life’s too short for this crap. Hey, I have things to do and places to go. I’m going to do it all. My way. Me and Jake here.”

  “Oh, Patrick . . . you’re breaking my heart,” Kate cried.

  “Come on now, give us a send-off,” Patrick said cheerfully.

  “Go to hell, Patrick,” Kate cried.

  “If I were you, Kate, I’d shed ten pounds before you show up on that guy’s doorstep.” Patrick laughed as he settled himself on the driver’s seat. He waved airily. Jake barked. The girls blew kisses as the Cherokee sailed down the driveway.

  “Why did you lie to her like that?” Betsy demanded.

  “She wanted to come. We would have been a family again,” Ellie cried.

  Patrick looked at his daughters. “Didn’t either one of you learn anything in those fancy colleges you went to? Your mother loves someone else. She was willing to give that up. For me. I almost let her do that. Right up to the very last second I was going to. . . . I’m a taker. Your mother is a giver. You need to know that. If there’s one thing I know, your mother is going to make all of this right. You see, we both made promises. We kept them, and now it’s time for each of us to live our lives.

  “Okay, troops, let’s hear it! Off we go, into the wild blue yonder . . .”

  EPILOGUE

  Gus Stewart sat in his office, chair tilted back, feet propped on the desktop, his thoughts miles away in California. Work was piled up all around him, but he saw none of it. Very little mattered these days. Not his job, not his investments, not the white elephant in Connecticut he couldn’t sell, not even the family shindig his siblings had invited him to for the upcoming weekend.

  Kate was lost to him; he’d known that from the get-go, but he’d hung on, hoping something would work out in his favor. But when she’d called in July, crying and sobbing so hard he couldn’t make sense of what she was saying, he’d known it was hopeless. Before she’d hung up, he’d heard her mutter something that sounded like “To have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.” He remembered how his stomach had heaved, how his eyes had burned.

  That very night he’d swept everything on his desk onto the floor and taken off on a three-day drunk capped off with Chinese food that left him so sick it had taken two weeks to recover. He choked now, remembering. He hadn’t been able to eat any Chinese food since.

  “Yo, Gus,” a copyboy shouted, “package for you. Plain brown wrapper. Only your name on the front. Bet it’s spy stuff,” the kid said as he sailed the hefty envelope toward Gus from the open doorway.

  “Yeah, the Arabs are in the lobby and we’re going to be held hostage,” Gus muttered as he grabbed the package. The moment he recognized Kate’s handwriting, his heart thumped in his chest, once, twice, three times, before it resumed its natural beat.

  He weighed the package, trying to guess the contents. It must be the album she’d said she was going to make for him with all the pictures they’d taken in Hawaii and Costa Rica. There had to be at least six yards of see-through tape on the package. A nerve jangled and then another, until his feet hit the floor with a loud thump. He rummaged for scissors in his middle drawer, finally yanking them free of a wad of rubber bands and paper clips stuck to the bands. One of the bands snapped, snicking his finger. “Son of a bitch!” It took him a full two minutes to cut through the thick tape. Before he withdrew the contents, he swept his desk clear, everything flying in all directions. The wrapping sailed through the air and landed by the door. He thought it made a noise, but he wasn’t sure. His breath exploded in a loud swoosh.

  Four spiral-bound notebooks, one yellow, one blue, one red, and one a marbleized black and white. A letter with something paper-clipped underneath. His hands were trembling. It was a letter from Kate. He read it, his eyes burning.

  My Dearest Gus,

  I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what it is you’re holding in your hands. With Patrick’s permission I am giving you your Pulitzer prize. All of us are placing our lives in your hands. If that sounds exaggerated, I apologize, but it’s how we all feel. We’re going back on our word, and that means you have to go back on yours, too.

  I personally dropped off this package to ensure it wouldn’t fall into other hands. Attached to this letter is all the proof you need. Betsy, in her rebellious period,
when she thought she could single-handedly rescue her father, bought a fountain pen that doubled as a camera from one of the ads in Soldier of Fortune magazine. I didn’t even know there was such a gadget, but she knew, and I guess that’s all that’s important. What you have are three photographs of the document Betsy, Ellie, and I signed at LAX a year ago. Betsy developed them herself. Real cloak-and-dagger stuff.

  We’re all going to try to get on with our lives. I’m asking you to help. I hope I’m not being melodramatic. On the other hand, I remember the look on Mr. Spindler’s face that day.

  I need you to do one last thing. When you lock this in your safe, take the elevator to the lobby. Someone will be waiting for you. I’m thanking you in advance because I know you’ll do as I ask.

  Love and affection,

  Kate

  His eyes blurred with tears, Gus unhooked the black pen attached to the red cover of the spiral notebook.

  It was all here, but at what price? He flipped through the red notebook, took in the strange scrawl, the awful words. Kate was right. It was a Pulitzer prize.

  Take the elevator to the lobby, the note said. He locked the books in his office safe. He blew his nose lustily.

  He was blowing his nose a second time, not caring about the tears in his eyes, when the elevator slid open.

  She was directly in his line of vision, a hot dog in each hand. “Hey, I promised you dinner, and I always keep my promises. What took you so long?”

  Gus’s fist shot in the air. “Hell, I always was a slow mover.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Kate smiled. “Marry me, Gus Stewart. In my right-hand pocket I have a lab slip for our blood tests. Maybe we can rush it.”

  “Let’s eat on the way. This is a hell of a prewedding supper.”

  Kate grinned. “It doesn’t get any better than this.”

  “No, lady, it doesn’t.”

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