by Toni Aleo
Washington, D.C.
Kitty stood at her townhouse window, gazing at the moon and frowning. Their last conversation before he left with the team came to mind. He’d fessed up about his injury, then roared about the unfairness of it. She let him. After all, he deserved time to yell, scream, and stomp around—get it out of his system. But instead, after his initial reaction, he crumbled like stale bread.
She’d seen Harry’s anger before. Kitty could deal with anger, outrage, fury—but not sadness, not this deflated, silent Harry who sat before her, head in his hands. Fear spiked up her spine. Harry had always been the fixer, but how could he fix this? He was broken, and she had to help him. Was she up to the task? If she loved him, she’d find a way.
Her brows knit as she considered the solution put forth by the Huskies. Some offer—become a scout. That involved more traveling than playing on the team. And he’d be removed from hockey, always the observer, never a participant.
Her eyes clouded, then watered. Harry on the road all the time would finish them. Grabbing a tissue, she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. There had to be something else that could bring them together. She sighed and returned to the bedroom to finish packing. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and Christmas spirit had flown the coop.
“Merry Christmas, Harry, you’re fired. Out with the trash. Yeah, we needed you defending our goal, but now that you’re slower than a camel, you’re gone,” she muttered to herself, her tone bitter. “Oh, by the way, we’ll throw an old dog like you a bone. Scout for us, for one-tenth of what you were making before. And one hundred percent more travel.”
She slammed the top down on her suitcase and typed “National Airport” in on her Uber app and headed for the front door. Slipping on the mink coat Harry gave her for their third Christmas, she trudged down the stairs of their townhouse to the foyer.
Lying on the floor was the mail. She stooped to pick it up. An envelope with her name on it accompanied an assortment of Christmas cards. She checked the return address.
“Hmm. H. Cohen, Attorney-at-Law. Probably just junk mail. Guy looking to do a will or something,” she said. The honking of a horn drew her attention. No time to throw that letter out, so she stuffed it in her purse and rushed outside to the Uber cab waiting by the sidewalk.
The airport was stuffed to overflowing. Kitty chided herself for flying when she could have taken a train.
“Trains are crowded during the holidays, too. People sneeze in your face. And it takes fuckin’ forever,” Harry had said. “Fly. Go first class.”
“It’s a waste of money on such a short flight.”
“I don’t care. It’s Christmas. I want you to arrive happy.”
“I’ll be spending it with you. Why wouldn’t I be happy?” she’d asked, snaking her arms around his middle.
He’d kissed her. “First class, Kit.”
“Okay.”
Silently, she thanked him. He’d been right. Harry looked out for her 24/7. He took care of her with the same zeal that he defended the Husky net—all in.
Once she’d squeezed through the line of bodies waiting to board their flights, she sank into a roomy, comfortable seat and sipped champagne. Staring out the window at the lights of D.C., her mind turned to Christmas. Every year, her family and their friends dropped in for a catered Christmas Eve buffet at their spacious home in West Hartford.
Christmas Day, her favorite day of the year, belonged to Kitty and Harry alone, since he only had three days off. She loved Christmas Day. They’d start off by making love, then have a leisurely breakfast that stretched into lunch. They’d open their gifts, watch movies, then make love again. Kitty’d patch together a meal using leftovers from the night before.
But this year? How would they get through it? Emotion welled up inside her. She fished in her bag for a tissue. There was that stupid letter.
“Miss, can you toss this for me, please?”
The stewardess took the envelope. She looked it over. “Are you sure. It looks like a personal letter.”
Kitty took it back and studied it. The woman had been correct, it didn’t have any of the usual stuff of direct mail on the envelope. Hmm, a lawyer letter, just what she needed. Downing the last of her drink, she ripped open the envelope and read the contents.
Harry got in his car at the arena and drove to his home in West Hartford. They lived in a beautiful house, roomy, and decorated with taste and class by Kitty. Harry spent most of his days in the great room. With two sectional sofas, a huge stone fireplace, giant plasma television, and long dining table, it served all his needs, except sleeping.
The entire trip home, Harry focused on the Husky’s offer of a scouting job. It wouldn’t pay much, not in comparison to his multi-million-dollar contract as a top defenseman. He’d be on the road at least nine months of the year. With the divorce in the works, maybe the scouting job would work. He’d travel too much to keep their marriage together. Hell, it would be a good excuse to give Kitty her freedom. Sure beat admitting he’d failed as a husband.
Harry had asked Timmons for time to consider the offer. He’d take the buyout and split it with Kitty. Then she’d have the financial support she needed to take the gallery to the next level. Kitty amazed him with her willingness to work hard and find a way to make an art gallery profitable enough to keep going. The last thing she needed was a has-been like him, tagging along, dragging her down.
Alice, their housekeeper, had seen to it the snow on the front walk had been cleared. Harry put his key in the lock and entered. The scent of fresh pine greeted him. He put down his bag, ambled over to the bar and poured a Chivas on the rocks. Then he flipped on a Christmas CD Kitty had made with their favorite songs.
His housekeeper had put up the two wreaths Kitty had sent, and the Christmas tree stood in a place of honor, waiting to be decorated. He sighed. This year, he’d have all the time in the world to dress the tree.
A fire had been laid. He lit a piece of newspaper and held it up the chimney to create a draft, then shoved it under the logs. He toed off his shoes and sat down on the sofa, watching the fire. The crackle of the dry wood added to the atmosphere. Climbing the stairs to the bedroom, he rummaged through his drawer until his fingers found Kitty’s Christmas gifts. He padded downstairs and put the two small boxes under the tree.
Reaching under the sofa, he pulled out a large one. Inside was the down comforter she’d coveted at the specialty shop in town. He placed that next to the more expensive gifts. Harry made his way around the room, remembering where he’d stashed each present he’d accumulated during the year. There was the coffee table book with huge color pictures of the work of her favorite artists. And the purse she’d admired but refused to buy because it was too expensive. Playing Santa Claus to his wife suited Harry.
Once he had all the loot assembled, he poured another drink and hummed along with Silver Bells, sung by Nat King Cole. Christmas was set. All he needed was Kitty. He stood by the picture window and watched a soft snowfall. Flakes drifted down, taking their time as if waiting for the perfect spot to land. They coated dark, bare tree limbs on one side, shading them, giving them depth. Stars twinkled like tiny Christmas lights in the sky.
The crunch of tires on the packed snow in the driveway grabbed his attention. He pulled the curtain aside. A limousine parked by the front door. The driver opened the trunk and deposited Kitty’s bags by the front stoop. She tipped him, unnecessary because a tip was included, and he doffed his cap.
Swathed in mink up to her chin, his stunning wife marched up the steps, bags in hand. Harry opened the door.
“Kitty! Baby! Merry Christmas!” he said, opening his arms and mustering all the holiday cheer he could.
She stepped closer and slapped him across the face. “Don’t you Merry Christmas me!”
Chapter Three
Harry retreated a step. “What the hell?”
“Exactly! What the hell is this?” she asked, waving a folded piece of paper in front of his face.
“I don’t know. What is it?”
“A divorce! You want a divorce? Since when? And were you ever going to discuss this with me?” she said, advancing into the room.
Harry backed up.
Kitty slammed the door and made a beeline for the sofa. She rifled pillow after pillow at him. Harry raised his arms, protecting himself.
“You are the lowest form of life on Earth, Harry Edwards! Divorce? How about a funeral, instead? I can arrange that.”
Harry picked up the paper from the floor and unfolded it. “Shit.”
“Shit? Shit? That’s all you have to say?” Tears clouded her eyes as she sank down on the sofa.
“I had no idea Herb was going to do this.”
“But you know about it? You want a divorce?”
“No, well, yes. But not really.”
“Which it is, Harry?”
“I want to give you your freedom.”
“What?” she asked, pushing to her feet.
“And anything else you want.”
“Did I ask you for this?”
“No. Figured you wouldn’t. But I knew the end of my career was coming. Why should you be tied to some has-been, wash-out? You deserve the best. Your career is skyrocketing. Mine is over. I don’t want to hold you back.”
When she approached him, he stepped back, rubbing his cheek.
“I’m not going to slap you again. Who do you think you are making decisions like this for me? Since when do I need you to decide what’s best for me? If I want a divorce, I’ll bloody well tell you myself.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
Her face reddened. “Why you condescending jerk!”
Risking another assault by his wife, Harry took her upper arm. “Look. I know you’re not a cut-and-run person. I get that. It’s one of the thousand reasons I married you. But this, this is different. I don’t know where I’m going to end up.”
“Are you taking the scouting job?”
“I’ve been considering it. If we weren’t married, then being on the road 24/7 works.”
He stepped closer. Kitty’s gaze searched his face.
“Weren’t you going to discuss this with me?”
He shook his head. “I thought about it. But I know you’d want to keep things the same. Kitty, I’m not the same man you married. My life is going to change. I can’t tie you to me through this.”
“Oh, I see. And for better or worse means nothing?”
He chuckled. “Leave it to you to quote that.”
She took off her coat and hung it in the closet, then faced him.
“I get it. Your nice, little perfect life isn’t so perfect anymore. You’ve been thrown a curve. Sorry, wrong sport. Just like everyone else out there. You’ve been handed something horrible, a twist, a hideous outcome beyond your control. And what do you do? Pull together with me to find a way to change our lives to deal with this? No. You run away. And dump me in the process.”
“If you put it like that—”
“What other way is there to put it? If that’s what you want to do, then, yes, you’re right. You’re not the man I married anymore. I married a fighter. Not a wimp who crawls away, tail between his legs, at the first sign of adversity. I’m going upstairs.”
She picked up her bag.
“Wait!”
“Why? You’ve made up your mind. You’ve given up. I had an idea, but I can see it’s too late. So go ahead. Do whatever you want. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
“No, don’t.”
She turned her back to him and climbed to the second floor.
Harry rubbed his scruffy face. What had he done? Damn that fucking Herb. Why did he send that letter? If Harry had known, he would have discussed it with Kitty first. Now the whole thing, their relationship—the marriage, had been blown apart. Was he wrong to love her enough to let her go? She didn’t see it that way. Could he salvage things, and what was her plan, anyway?
Right from the start, he got that she was way smarter than he. Had he destroyed his marriage by being a stupid idiot? He hoped not. Harry went to the bar, mixed two toddies, then headed for the kitchen. He nuked them and made his way to the bedroom.
When he opened the door, light from the hall shadowed the figure of someone lying in the massive king-sized bed. Kitty looked so tiny, huddled under a fluffy comforter against the cold. When he entered the room, she didn’t budge. She’d done that before—ignored him. He picked up on her level of anger. He balanced the drink tray on the nightstand and flipped on the lamp.
“Hot toddy?”
No response from the little lump.
“Come on. Join me. Get rid of some of that cold in your bones.”
Still no response. He sighed.
“Okay, okay. Yes, I talked to a lawyer. He wasn’t supposed to send you that letter. I had no idea he’d do that. I just wanted him to get an offer ready. Then I planned to talk to you.”
“The lawyer’s a prick,” came a small voice from under the covers.
“A dumb prick,” Harry said.
He took a sip. “This is the best hot toddy I’ve ever made. Come out, Kitty. I’m sorry. I was wrong. You’re right. I never should have done anything without talking to you first.”
That did it. Slowly the covers receded, and his beautiful wife’s tearstained face emerged.
“Oh, baby. I made you cry? I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching for her.
She stiff-armed him and took her glass off the tray. “Don’t touch me,” she said, before taking a sip.
He frowned at her words and the tone of her voice. This would be no easy fix. He took another sip as his brain maneuvered.
“What was your plan?” he asked.
She simply glared at him and drank.
“Come on. Tell me. I’m sure it’s better than mine.”
“Anything is better than yours, except death.”
He chuckled.
“That wasn’t supposed to be funny,” she retorted.
“I know, I know. But it was. Look, what do I have to do to get you to talk to me?”
“Say the divorce was the dumbest idea in the world and that you’d never want one.”
“Okay. The divorce was the dumbest idea in the world and I’d never want one.”
“That’s a beginning,” she replied.
“What else can I do?”
“Maybe a public flogging?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
At that, Harry cracked up. A smile played at Kitty’s lips. She took a swig and sat back, pulling the covers up to her cover her breasts.
“Do you have to cover up like that?” Harry asked.
“Sex will not get you where you want to go. So back off.”
He raised his palms. “Okay. Sorry. Can’t help looking.”
“Look, just shut up about it. This is serious. Do you know how hard that plane ride was?”
“You read this on the plane?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice quivering, her eyes wet.
“Oh my God. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I thought you didn’t love me anymore and wanted a divorce. I thought you’d met someone on the road and decided to dump me.” As she spoke a few tears trickled down her cheeks.
As he brushed the tears away with his thumb, he spoke. “I could never love anyone, want anyone, but you. You have to believe that.”
“I used to.”
“Oh, baby. God. This is terrible. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you did. And then I got angry. I’m celibate all the weeks we’re separated and you’re fucking around? It drove me crazy. I imagined all kinds of things.”
He cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead. “Nope. Been faithful the whole time.”
“I wanted to kill you.” She wiped her face with a tissue and blew her nose.
“I can imagine. And now?”
“Maybe just beat you up a little.”
“Have at me,” he said, working to keep away a smile.
She inched nearer and pounded on his chest a couple of times. He didn’t flinch.
“There. That make you feel better?” he asked.
“A little. Didn’t even bruise you, did I?”
He shook his head, then closed his hand over her little fist. “These are loving hands. Couldn’t hurt a fly.” He kissed them.
Her eyes filled again. “You shit. You always do something, say something that makes me forgive you.”
“That’s the idea. I love you, Kitty. Always have. Always will.”
“No divorce?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“No divorce.”
“Good. I love you, too. Harry. We’ll figure this out. You’ll see.”
He rose from the bed, downed the last of his drink, and pulled his sweater over his head. When he got down to his boxers, he crawled into bed.
“What’s your plan?” he asked, taking his wife into his arms.
Kitty snuggled down, resting her cheek on his chest.
“Keep an open mind. It’s just a jumping off point.”
“I’m listening.”
“Remember those kids you wanted me to have three years ago?”
“Yeah?”
“I thought we could have them now.”
“Really?” His eyebrows shot up.
“Yes. And since you’re sort of not working. You’re not going to take the scouting job, are you?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t. I’ve had enough of being apart all the time. So, anyway. You could be home with the kids.”
“Househusband?”
“Stay-at-home dad?”
“Me? Star defenseman of the Huskies? Changing diapers and burping babies?” His eyebrows shot up.
“Your babies. And teaching them to play hockey. You’d be a wonderful dad. Just while I’m working. When I get home, I’ll take over.”
“And I suppose you want me to cook dinner, too?”