She ignored the question.
“I want to know if you’re all right, Kate!”
She looked at him then; he could feel the effort it took for her to do it. “I don’t know,” she said. She gave a small shrug. “I haven’t heard from the biopsy yet.”
Oh, damn! Damn it!
He realized that she must be working from her own assumption—that she thought his coming here like this must mean that he somehow knew what was going on with her. And she meant to derail him with the unadulterated truth. He understood that immediately. But it wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t the real estate guy.
He kept looking at her, trying to hold it together. It was every bit as bad as he had feared, and it was all he could do not to reach for her.
“I didn’t wake up this morning thinking I wanted to make things worse for you,”
he said finally. “I know you don’t want me here, so I’m just going to get it over with. All I want you to do is listen. I need to tell you this—because I’m not sure you understand how it is with me.
“See, I don’t care what people think about you and me being together. I don’t care about the age difference. I know how old you are, by the way. I was still a patient when they decorated the nurses’ station with black crepe paper and had that big four-oh party for you.
“I also don’t care that this thing started when both of us were on the rebound. I do care that maybe the cancer has come back. That worries the hell out of me—because I love you, Kate. That’s it. That’s what I wanted to tell you. Whether you like it or not. Whether it’s right or wrong or convenient. It doesn’t matter. I love you. Big joke, huh?
“It really hurt when you broke it off the way you did—but as bad as that was, it’s nothing compared to what I’m feeling right this minute—because I only just realized what you really think of me. See, I thought we were up front with each other. I thought you cared about me and you even trusted me a little. I thought there was more to us than just a good roll in the hay. But I was wrong about all that.”
“Cal—”
“I don’t understand why you couldn’t tell me what was happening with you! Did you think I was too dumb to get how scared you must be? I know how scared you are, Kate. I’m scared, too. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’m arrogant enough to think I might be able to help you through this stuff—and that’s because it was always easier for me when I wasn’t doing so good if you were around. Two-way street, you know?
“That night when Mrs. Bee got you out of the shower and made you come see about me. You said something about me forgiving myself. I thought you were going to say everything happens for a reason—and it made me mad, because I couldn’t see a reason for me to make it when the others died.
“But now I’m thinking maybe there is a reason. Maybe I made it so I’d be here for you. How do you like that for arrogance, Kate?”
He was making her cry—the last thing in this world he wanted to do. She wiped furtively at her eyes, but he didn’t stop.
“I’m not like your sorry-assed ex-husband or any of the rest of them. I thought you knew that. It hurts so bad, Kate, knowing you don’t want anything from me now when you’re—” He had to stop because his voice broke. He struggled to his feet. “That’s all I have to say—except that I hope everything turns out all right—the biopsy, I mean. I’m not going to make things worse for you. If you want me, you know where to find me.”
“Cal…this
is
my problem.”
“Right. Oh, you might want to call Arley. I know she’s not authorized to be affected by this thing, either, but she’s pretty worried about what’s going on with you—in an Arley sort of way.”
He didn’t wait for her to say anything else. He dragged himself to the car and he didn’t even remember the trip. He was barreling down the highway in Thelma and Louise somehow, and he didn’t look back. Not once. He couldn’t—not if he intended to leave her. He had to leave her. She didn’t want him around. What else could he do?
Mrs. Bee was waiting up for him. She took one look at him, and the hopeful expression on her face died.
“I put Thelma and Louise back in the shed,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “I don’t think I broke anything.”
She didn’t say anything until he was halfway up the stairs.
“Calvin?”
He stopped, but he didn’t turn around. “I gave it my best shot, Mrs. Bee.”
“I know you did…. Calvin?”
He gave a quiet sigh. “Yeah, Mrs. Bee?”
“You’re a good boy, Calvin.”
Oh, yeah, he thought. Him and Michael Mont. He hadn’t read the whole book, so he didn’t know how things worked out for the guy. Not good, he supposed. Those big, thick books with the jackets still on them were too much like real life. He
was
tired. Too tired to even think anymore. It was all he could do to drag the rest of the way up the stairs. The cat came from somewhere and dogged his heels down the hallway.
In spite of his fatigue, he showered and fixed himself a tomato and cheese sandwich. He even managed to feed the cat before it got all the way to Act III of The Cat from Hunger Dies.
Then he sat down in front of the television, but he didn’t turn it on. He just stared at it. What he needed was musical accompaniment for his misery—and he felt too bad to even pick up his guitar. He turned on the radio instead and searched for something in keeping with his mood. He finally settled on a tearjerker by one of the boy bands. Boy bands knew all about being big losers in the love department. He’d let them do his suffering for him, because they did it so well.
The cat jumped up on the chair arm and kept trying to lean on him.
“Beat it, tuna breath,” he said.
But cats weren’t put on this earth to follow orders, and it eventually settled itself against his side. He could feel it purring. He tried not to think of the day he’d gone to shoo Kate in out of the rain.
It seemed like a hundred years ago.
Another memory popped into his mind—Mrs. Bee talking about her first husband and the song he’d sung about the soldier praying for angels to protect the woman he loves. He had no problem getting with that.
Please, he thought. Just let her be okay. That’s all I ask. Please!
When he was pretty sure he’d fall asleep if he hit the sack, he moved to the bedroom. Sleep came easily enough, but it didn’t last. He woke with a start, thinking that the cat must be on midnight patrol again and had knocked something over. He raised up, trying to see.
Kate stood in the doorway.
At first, he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. The room was dark. He couldn’t see her face. He heard her give a quiet sigh, but she still didn’t say anything.
“So…did you come over the roof again?” he asked after a moment.
“Mrs. Bee let me in,” she said, her voice sounding husky and strained.
“Are you going to stay over there…or are you coming over here?”
It was all the invitation she needed. She came to him then, lying down beside him. He held her tightly, stroking her face, her hair. He couldn’t believe she was really here.
“You’re going to have to help me out here,” he said. “I don’t want to jump to the wrong conclu—”
She stopped him with a kiss.
“Hold me,” she said, clinging to him in the darkness. “Hold me—” She stopped abruptly. He thought she was crying.
He tightened his arms around her. “Kate—”
“You were…right. I am scared. I’m so scared I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m…I hurt you. I didn’t mean—”
She was crying hard now, and he let her. She needed to do that, he thought.
“I didn’t want to…drag you…into this,” she said. “You know…how you are.”
“No. How am I?”
“You’re… loyal. ”
“And that’s a bad thing, I guess.”
“I did
n’t want you to feel obligated…to stick by me…because I…know you. You’d stay…no matter how you felt…about it. I care about you. The least I could do was give you a—”
“A what? A way out?”
“Yes!”
“Kate,
I’m supposed to be the one to decide whether or not I want to bail. You didn’t give me the chance.”
“I know. I couldn’t. I didn’t—”
She gave a wavering sigh and pressed her face into his shoulder.
“Didn’t what?” he asked after a moment.
“I didn’t want to take the chance—that I might be wrong about you, too.”
He gave a quiet sigh and held her closer.
Amazing, he thought. Sometimes women made perfect sense—once a man understood the particulars. Getting the particulars out of them was hell, though. Definitely, definitely hell.
“Don’t do it again,” he said. “Don’t make decisions for me. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
“I mean it.”
“I
know.”
“Okay, then. Whatever happens, we’re going to get through it. You and me. And the sisters and Mrs. Bee and the church ladies—and whoever the hell else it takes. I love you, Kate—more than I can ever tell you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me again.”
“I love you, Cal.”
He couldn’t stop smiling—and he couldn’t keep from fishing, either. “So…when did it happen? The ‘love’ thing.”
“When you came out into the rain to see about me,” she said.
“Damn, Kate!” he said, just as taken aback as he’d been when she told Mrs. Bee she had him chained to her bed. He kissed her. Hard. And held her close to him.
Women.
No.
This woman.
He never would have guessed—not in a million years. He closed his eyes and savored his joy, pushing aside all the worry about what might be ahead for them. For now he would rely on the training he’d gotten from the military and from Pop Doyle—first things first and one step at a time.
Kate Meehan loved him. And that was all that mattered.
Epilogue
It was standing room only in Uncle Patrick’s pub—friends and family—and strangers off the street. Doyle looked out across the sea of faces. Nina and his mother were conspicuously absent—he hadn’t expected them to come—but the people who had managed to get there were all waiting for him to do something entertaining.
“So will you sing for us, Cal?” Uncle Patrick called from the bar.
“You’re going to be sorry you asked that,” he answered, making the crowd laugh.
“Should I be hidin’ the tomatoes then, Cal?”
“I wish you would,” he assured him. “But since you did ask, I’m going to do it. Not too long ago somebody told me a story. It was a love story, and it was about a soldier—a paratrooper—” He had to stop for the barks and whistles that came from the military presence in the crowd.
“This soldier went to war, and he didn’t come home again. But before he left to go overseas, he sang a song to the woman he loved…in a place something like this one. It took me a while to find the words, but I did. And she’s here tonight, helping us celebrate, so I’m going to sing it for her.”
He waited for the applause to die down.
“I’m going to sing it for her,” he said again, “and I’m going to sing it for the woman I love. They’re both sitting right over there—Mrs. Bee and my darling Kate.” He could see Kate smile, and Mrs. Bee and the church ladies go all atwitter. “Clive and Jeffrey here are going to help me out with the music,” he added.
Both musicians gave a little bow.
“When was it you got married?” Clive asked him loudly enough for the back of the room to hear.
“Ah…two hours ago,” Doyle said, knowing something was coming.
“Aha! Two hours ago, is it?” Clive asked innocently.
“Right.”
“So this would be your weddin’ night, would it?”
“It
would.”
“Saints preserve us, boy, and you’re wasting time up here singin’! ”
“I’m going to sing fast,” Doyle said above the laughter.
“Well, I should hope so!” Clive said, giving him a pointed look—and then another one in case the crowd missed the first one. Then he stepped back and began the melancholy intro on his fiddle, going through it twice until the room quieted down.
Doyle stood where he could see Kate’s beautiful face.
He began to sing the words, and everything else fell away. There was no one here but her. She was well and safe now, and he adored her, his beautiful, beautiful wife.
He took her through the song with all the emotion his Irish roots could muster—
through the soldier’s long search for the one woman in this world that was his and his alone, his joy at finding her at last and his love and his prayers for her. He sang his heart out, and when he was done, like the time Bud Gaffney had sung it so long ago, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
There was a moment of silence when the music ended, then the room exploded with applause. He shook hands with Clive and Jeffrey and stepped down from the stage. He walked to Mrs. Bee first, giving her a little bow and kissing her hand.
He turned to Kate and took her into his arms. She was crying. He kissed her, then kissed her again.
“I love you, Mrs. Doyle,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
The
Older
Woman
Copyright © 2002 by Cheryl Reavis
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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