Hideaway

by Roberts, Nora

  She found her place, her own Who Am I Anyway? in voice-overs for commercials, animated films and shorts, in audiobooks, in video game characters.

  She found her identity, her independence.

  She found her joy again.

  The turn, the direction, the self-knowledge, and the years between made her a different person when she ran into Noah again.

  Walking home with a market bag after a long day in the booth, she heard her name, glanced up, focused in.

  He’d let his hair grow a bit longer; he’d added some scruff. And he still had those wonderful lion’s eyes. She supposed any woman would feel a little heart-tug when face-to-face with her first love.

  “Noah.” She stepped forward, kissed his cheeks as pedestrians flowed around them.

  “I was just—Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s really good to see you. Are you busy? Can I buy you a drink? I’d really like . . . I’d really like to talk to you if you have a few minutes.”

  “I could use a drink. There’s a place on the next block, if you don’t mind doubling back.”

  “Great.”

  He began to walk with her. A hot summer night, she thought, not so different from the last time they’d walked together.

  “I guess you still live in the neighborhood.”

  “Old habits,” she told him. “My grandparents are back in California, but I stayed. I go back and forth more than I used to. How about you?”

  “I have an actual bedroom that can hold an actual bed. In fact, I’ve got a town house. It’s nice to have some room.”

  “Here’s the place. Do you want a table? Want to sit at the bar?”

  “Let’s get a table.”

  The bar, several steps up from the coffee shops, pizza dens, Mexican joints they’d frequented once upon a time, offered steel tables, narrow booths, a long ebony bar.

  Once they’d settled, she ordered a glass of cab, and he did the same.

  “How’s your family?” she began, and he looked deep into her eyes. “The Irish can hold grudges, Noah, but there’s no need for it.”

  “My parents are good. They’re in Hawaii for a couple of weeks—it’s cooler there, and my mom still has family on the Big Island. My grandmother passed last year.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “We miss her. Bekka’s a doctor. We’re really proud.”

  He ran through his siblings until the drinks came.

  “I need to say some things. I’ve started to call you I don’t know how many times. I could never follow through. I didn’t do the right thing by you, Cate. I didn’t handle it right.”

  “What happened was beyond awful. There’s no right way.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. I said that then, but you were right, I didn’t mean it. I do now. It was never your fault.”

  She looked into her wine. “It matters. Hearing you say that matters. We were both so young. God, the press afterward? Uglier yet, and we couldn’t have handled it. It would never have worked for us.”

  She drank, studying him over the rim of her glass. “You were a key point in my life. I’ve been thinking about key points lately. How they all intersect or diverge. Being with you, then not. Key points. I’ve been to see every play you’ve been in since.”

  He blinked at her. “You have?”

  “Key points, Noah. It was good to see someone who mattered to me doing what he was born to do.”

  “I wish you’d come backstage.”

  She smiled at that, drank again. “Awkward.”

  “I saw Lucy Lucille. Twice.”

  She laughed. “Spending Mondays at animated films?”

  “You were great. Seriously. I guess . . . it was good to hear someone who mattered to me doing what she was born to do.”

  “You should hear my Shalla, Warrior Queen. You were never one for video games,” she remembered.

  “Who’s got time? You look happy.”

  “I am. I love the work, really love the work. It’s fun and challenging and, God, it’s diverse. I’ll say you look happy, too.”

  “I am. I love the work. And I just got engaged.”

  “Wow! Congratulations.” She could mean it, Cate realized. And wasn’t that a relief? “Tell me about her.”

  He did; she listened.

  “If you decide to come to another performance, let me know.”

  “All right. And I’ll try to come to another. I’m actually starting the process of moving back to California.”

  “Back to L.A.?”

  “Big Sur. My grandparents are semiretired there. My grandfather had a fall, broke his leg last winter.”

  “I heard about that, but that he was okay. Is he?”

  “Mostly, yeah. But he’s getting older, whether or not he’ll admit it. And G-Lil’s waffling on doing a revival of Mame because she’s worried about leaving him even for a limited run.”

  “So the rumors are true—Lily Morrow coming back to Broadway to revive her Tony-winning performance? Big buzz in my world.”

  “She’ll do it if I’m with him, and I can do the bulk of my work anywhere. Or I can use a studio in Monterey, Carmel, San Francisco. I can make it work.”

  Would make it work, she corrected. She had the wheel; she chose her own turns now.

  “And lately, I’ve been missing California. I feel like it’s time to maybe change directions.”

  She angled her head. “Seeing you, talking like this, it’s kind of closed a chapter—in a good way.” When the waiter came by, asked if they wanted another round, Cate shook her head. “I’ve got prep to do. I’ve really got to go. I’m so glad we did this, Noah.”

  “Me, too.” He reached over for her hand. “You were a key point for me, Cate. A good chapter in my life.”

  When she left him, she felt lighter. And knew as she walked home, as New York swarmed around her, she could leave without a single regret.

  Because she had work, Cate flew into San Francisco. She’d forgotten how chilly November in San Francisco could be.

  After a long, fraught decision-making process, she’d shipped ahead most of her possessions she’d opted to keep. Another selection went into storage for maybe later.

  The rest she sold or gave to friends.

  She’d thought it would make her feel lighter. Instead she felt weirdly empty, which wasn’t the same at all.

  Because she definitely wanted her own car and had already researched what would suit her best, she spent a day test driving, negotiating, and buying a nice little hybrid SUV. Not the convertible of her teenage dreams, she thought as she waited while the bellman at her hotel loaded it up.

  She still had time to fulfill that dream.

  Getting out of San Francisco put her very rusty, rarely used driving skills to the test. One she nearly failed twice on the steep hills, then again when she hit the twists of Highway 1.

  To calm those rusty driver’s nerves, she turned the radio up, did her best to mimic Gaga. She had decent pipes—not Gaga level, but who did? Still, she could sell it when called on.

  And the views—the wild heights, the churning sea, the climbing cliffs. Yes, she’d missed this, somewhere deep inside. How strange it was, she realized, to be called back and find it a kind of coming home.

  Even a year before she would have said, without hesitation, New York was home. Years before that, she would have said Ireland.

  Didn’t it make her lucky to finally understand she could put her heart into so many homes? And to find herself absolutely ready to come back to this one.

  The thin November fog crawling in as she climbed only made it all the more beautiful.

  When she passed the ranch road to the Coopers’, she thought of them, all of them. She still kept in touch, but hadn’t come back to Big Sur in years.

  Maybe she’d bake some soda bread and take it over to them sometime soon.

  Key points, she thought. They more than qualified as one of hers.

  When she drove onto the peninsula, she felt nothing but excitement.
She stopped at the gate, started to roll down the window for the intercom.

  But the gates opened for her.

  Video surveillance, she knew, and she’d described the car, in detail, after she’d bought it.

  She climbed the road, thought of the beach, the rocks, the house, the everything.

  The second gate—installed after her kidnapping—opened as well.

  When she crested the last rise, her grandparents stood together under the portico with the house and all its fascinating levels behind them.

  She nearly forgot to put the car in park, but avoided disaster before she jumped out and ran over to hug them both.

  Lily’s hair, still redder than red, waved the flames around her face in a new style. Hugh, with his trim little gray beard—a new style as well.

  “We’ve been watching for you.” Lily all but bubbled it. “Since you texted you were maybe an hour away. Come in, come in, don’t worry about your things. All taken care of.”

  “How are those pins, Grandpa?”

  He did a little soft-shoe. “Don’t you worry about my pins. How was the drive?”

  “A little nerve-racking at first. It’s been awhile. But it comes back to you. Oh, everything looks so good. I’ve missed a fire in the fireplace, and this light. And—Oh, Consuela!”

  She’d known the longtime cook had relocated with them as head housekeeper/cook now, but seeing her just made Cate’s heart swell.

  Beaming, Consuela rolled in a tray. “Bienvenida a casa, mi niña.” She teared up a little at Cate’s embrace. “Now you’ll have some wine, some food, and sit with your grandparents. Your grandfather doesn’t sit enough.”

  “The pair of them would have me propped up from dawn to dusk, then flat out from dusk to dawn.”

  Consuela only clucked her tongue, then, after stroking Cate’s cheek, slipped out of the room.

  “I won’t say no to that wine. And look at that fruit. There’s nothing like fresh California fruit. You two, sit, let me serve this up. I want to work out some kinks from the drive.”

  She poured wine, brought over the little plates, the fruit and cheese. Then paused just to look at the sea, the sky, the roll of lawn to the drop of cliff.

  “You remember how beautiful,” Cate murmured. “But memory isn’t like seeing. It can’t capture it, not all the way. Here’s to Liam and Rosemary, their love, their vision, their gift to all of us.”

  “Without them?” Hugh clinked glasses. “None of this, no you, no me.”

  Cate tried a slice of mango, sighed. “And man, this is really good. It’s another world here.” She perched on the arm of his chair. “I’m ready for another world. I started dreaming about this house, this place.”

  Hugh rubbed a hand on her thigh. “Good dreams.”

  “Yes. Good dreams. Jigsaw puzzles and hunting shells on the beach, barking sea lions, waking up to the ocean, listening to Grandda’s stories. He was so full of stories. I knew I wanted to come back, that I could.”

  “We want you to stay, but we don’t want you to feel obliged,” Lily added.

  “I want to stay, and you’d better have my room ready because now you’re stuck with me. Did you notice I bought a car?”

  Hugh paused as he reached for the tray. “You bought the one out front?”

  “Yesterday. That’s no rental. Us California girls need our own wheels. And I may just buy me a hot convertible next summer.”

  “You always wanted one,” Hugh murmured.

  “Now’s the time, finally. I’ve looked into studios in Monterey and Carmel, and I figure to talk you into letting me soundproof one of the big closets upstairs. I started in a closet, and it worked just fine. So listen up, I’m home to stay.”

  She reached for a sea salt cracker, topped it with some goat cheese. And grinned at her grandfather. “Too much Irish in me not to pay attention to dreams. I’m going to be looking out for you, pal of mine, while our Broadway babe hits the footlights again.”

  “Looking out for me,” Hugh snorted.

  “Damn right, so get used to it. I’d have come back either way, because dreams. But add broken leg—soft-shoe aside—and Mame? Too many signs pointing here for me to ignore. And just so you know, I’d started researching those studios before you decided to fall off that horse, cowboy.”

  “That does it.” Lily slapped her hands on her legs. “Hugh, I can’t wait another minute.”

  Cate reached for a slice of kiwi. “For what?”

  “Bring your wine.” Patting her leg, Hugh rose. “We’ll show you your room.”

  When Lily led the way back outside, Cate shook her head. “You’re kicking me out of the house before I even unpack?”

  “A young woman should have her own space, should have some privacy. She may want to entertain a gentleman caller.”

  Now Cate snorted. “Yeah, I’m loaded with gentleman callers.”

  “You should be.” Lily wrapped an arm around her waist as they crossed the side terrace, started down. “Hugh, you be careful on these steps.”

  “Nag, nag, nag.”

  “Bet your Irish ass. If you don’t want the guest cottage, you can pick a room in the main,” Lily continued. “I don’t have to tell you you’re free to come and go as you please. And watch out for the old man,” she added, sotto voce.

  “I heard that!”

  They took the stone path winding through the gardens where roses bloomed madly, fragrantly, in the November cool. Toward the sea, the pool shined dreamily blue. Ahead, the guesthouse, built as an Irish cottage in a fascinating contrast to the contemporary splendor of the main house.

  Deep green shutters framed the garden-facing windows, stood out against the cream-colored walls, the little stone steps. The charm of window boxes offered bursts of color, spills of greenery.

  Cate knew the sea-facing walls were glass, to bring in the drama, but the rest spoke of quiet charm, green hills, sheep-dotted fields.

  Rolling back through her memory, she decided she’d take the master upstairs, one with that glass wall, and the little fireplace, a square of light and heat built into an interior wall.

  It had a good-size closet she could soundproof, and her clothes could go in the bedroom across the hall. Four bedrooms, she recalled. No, five including the one on the first floor they’d used more as a playroom/dormitory when the whole family came to stay.

  Hugh took a key out of his pocket, offered it to Cate with a dramatic sweep of his hand.

  “This is pretty exciting.”

  She unlocked the door, stepped in.

  Fresh flowers, autumn blooms in milk bottles and mason jars—she’d expected flowers. She hadn’t expected to see the few pieces of furniture she’d put in storage—unable to part with—mixed in with the rest.

  “That’s my coffee table, and my lamp! My hunt table, too, and my chair.”

  “A woman wants to have her own things.”

  She turned to Lily. “They were in storage.”

  “And wouldn’t have been if they didn’t matter to you.”

  “But how did you get them out of storage? How did you get them here?”

  Hugh mimed brushing lint off his shirt. “We have our ways.”

  “Well, I love your ways. This is just so damn sweet, and everything looks great. And oh God, that view.”

  Breathtaking, she thought, with no obstructions to the hard blue of the sky, the wide, wide sea, the scatter of trees twisted by the wind into magical shapes.

  “I’ll never get anything done,” she murmured. “I’ll be drunk on the view night and day.”

  “The kitchen’s been redone—it needed it,” Lily added. “And you actually like to cook from time to time.”

  Soda bread for the Coopers, Cate thought, still dreaming.

  “Pantry’s stocked for when you don’t want to come to the house for meals. Which we hope isn’t often.” Hugh walked over to join her.

  She tipped her head to his shoulder. “You may have to come check on me, shake me out of my h
appy coma. I want to see the kitchen, and the . . .”

  She turned, blinked. “I was so distracted I didn’t see. You opened up some walls.”

  And the open floor plan brought the kitchen into view, separating it from the living space with a wide granite counter in myriad shades of gray and silver and hints of blue.

  “It’s fabulous. When did you do all this? I love it.”

  She walked over, skimmed her fingers over the granite. White cabinets—not sleek and modern but slatted and cottagey, a little distressed—hit just the right note against pale, pale gray walls. They’d gone with white, vintage-style appliances, added glass fronts on a section that held colorful glassware. Gleaming butcher block topped a small work island.

  She admired the deep farm sink, opened the slatted door to a walk-in pantry. Stocked, she thought, to hold her through a zombie apocalypse.

  She could eat on the rush-topped stools at the counter facing the breathtaking view, or snuggle into the nook with its benches as colorful as the glassware.

  “What do you think?”

  “G-Lil, I think I win the prize for grandparents.”

  “Combo laundry and mudroom through there.” Lily pointed. “And I’m going to warn you, Consuela’s going to come in twice a week to clean and do laundry. No point arguing,” she added. “She’s very adamant. Very.”

  “Okay, but I’ll talk her down to once a week.”

  “Good luck with that,” Hugh muttered.

  “Either way, this is the sweetest kitchen I’ve ever seen. I’d have been happy in the main house, and I’d have felt at home. But this? Well, it’s already home and I haven’t even seen my bedroom.”

  “There’s just one more little change down here, before we go up.” Hugh hooked his arm with Cate’s. “You’ve still got the half bath and reading room over there. And over here—”

  “We called it the playroom, the older kids called it the dorm.”

  “We didn’t think you’d need either of those,” he said as he opened the door.

  If she’d been dazzled by the changes so far, this knocked her speechless.

  They’d given her a studio, fully equipped, soundproofed, complete with booth. Noise-blocking shades, up now to let in the light and the garden view, the rise of hills beyond, could be rolled down to give her complete silence during recording.