by Karen Cimms
Goddamn it. Billy could see no way to get over there without getting in the water.
While he was still trying to determine how cold the water was and if he could wade over to the next dock, Harold climbed into a motorboat and started it up. Charlie hopped in beside him.
“How about a ride?” Harold called. “I have to take the boat up to the town landing so we can take her out of the water. Give you a little look-see of the cove, if you’d like.”
“Sure, why not?”
The old man pulled alongside the dock and took out his cell phone. “I can call Kate, let her know.”
“That’s okay.” Billy stepped down into the boat. “She had to work. She won’t be back until this afternoon.”
“Pah!” The old man seemed disgusted, but he didn’t give Billy a chance to ask why. He opened up the throttle and they picked up speed, causing Billy to lurch backward. He sat quickly before he found himself in the water, and to make sure there weren’t any more unscheduled swims, he grabbed hold of Charlie’s collar and held on tight.
The ride was short, so he didn’t see much, but what he did see was impressive. Grand waterfront homes surrounded with mature trees and evergreens sat poised near the waterfront, so unlike the Jersey shore with its miles of built-up properties and amusement piers.
As they neared a small marina and boat launch, Harold cut the engine. They bobbed gently, the water’s lapping against the boat and the occasional cry of a seagull the only sounds.
“What’re you doing here?” Harold asked.
“What?”
“Why are you here? Kate’s been here for nearly a year. You just decided to show up now?”
Who the fuck did this guy think he was? “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Billy answered.
Jeff was waving from the shore, but Harold ignored him. A motor roared to life along the shoreline. Harold pulled out a penknife, opened it, and started cleaning his nails.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Are we seriously going to just sit here?” This crazy old bird might be Kate’s friend, but that didn’t keep Billy from wanting to pop the motherfucker.
“Dad!” Jeff yelled.
The bastard didn’t move. He just glared.
“I don’t know what all went on between the two of you, but I know whatever it was, hurt her badly. And maybe you don’t think it’s any of my business, but I’m making it my business. Kate’s become like a daughter to me. So if you’re just here to stir up trouble, I suggest you head on home and leave her be.”
Despite being at least twenty years older, and at least six inches shorter, the old man looked ready to go a few rounds and then some. Unbelievable!
“Jesus Christ! Katie’s my wife, and I love her. I’m not here to hurt her.”
Harold folded the knife and slipped it into his pocket. “You better not. I’m warning you.”
“Dad!” Jeff cupped his hands and yelled louder. “Bring her in! Now! Whatever you’re doing, knock it off!”
Billy eyed the old man. “You can either take this tub in, or I’ll swim in.”
“No need.” Harold reached for the ignition. “Just so’s were clear.”
“We’re clear.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Billy didn’t let go of Charlie’s collar until they were in the fenced-in area by the pool.
“That’s the last time I take you anywhere near that water without a leash!” The dog dropped down in a sunny spot, rested his head on his front paws, and blinked. A canine version of an apology.
“Nice try.”
Leaving Charlie by the pool to dry off, Billy went inside to change. Then he pulled out his phone and called the AA hotline. There was a meeting starting in Portland in forty-five minutes.
New meetings could be uncomfortable. He never knew if anyone would recognize him, and it had gotten harder with the recent spate of publicity. He didn’t care who knew he went to AA. He wasn’t ashamed, but he didn’t want word getting out that he was in Maine. A few heads turned to stare and he heard some whispering, but he chalked it up to being the new guy. He introduced himself as Bill and declined to speak. At this point, just going to meetings and remembering why was enough for him.
On the way back, he stopped at a Wal-Mart and picked up a pair of jeans, a couple of T-shirts, some briefs, shampoo, and a razor. When he passed a Harley dealer, he stopped and bought another helmet on the off chance he could talk Kate into getting on the bike. Helmets weren’t required in Maine, but he knew she would never go without one and would freak out if he did. At least he hoped she still cared enough to freak out.
Back at the house, he tossed his bags on the bed in the guest room. Although Kate had said she wouldn’t be back until after two, the door to her room was open. Thinking she might be resting, he peeked inside to find Charlie stretched across the bed.
“You’re living the life of Reilly, aren’t you?” The dog gave him a lazy blink, yawned, then drifted back to sleep. “I hope you’re only this mellow because I’m here. Otherwise, you’re useless as a watchdog.”
It felt strangely odd and uncomfortable to be in Kate’s room, but not enough to stop him from taking a look around. The bed was unmade. A patchwork quilt trailed from the end onto the floor, and several pillows were bunched at the top. He raised one of her pillows to his face. Clementines. He closed his eyes and pressed it to his cheek. On her nightstand was a stack of books and next to it, a small ceramic dish held a bar of soap. He held the soap to his nose. Lemongrass. His scent. Kate might not be sure what she wanted, but he’d like to think he was still in the running.
He chased Charlie off the bed and closed the door behind him. There was another door at the end of the hall. A closet, maybe, or another bedroom.
When he pushed the door open, it was like walking into another dimension. Most of the house looked like a Pottery Barn catalog, with comfortable, oversized furniture and neutral backgrounds. There were books everywhere, knickknacks, art pieces, collections of shells, and glass. It looked loved and lived in.
But this room? It could have been plucked right out of a Manhattan high-rise. It was sterile and minimalistic, and other than the photos on the wall, it was devoid of any warmth or personality. Heavy curtains covered the windows, making it dark, despite the bright, sunny afternoon.
Billy switched on the lamp and took a closer look at an artfully arranged grouping of photographs of the male body. It was an evocative collection that could have come from some Soho gallery. And while he was sure he’d never seen them before, there was something strangely familiar. He scanned the room for clues, but when he came up empty, he stared at the photos again.
“Whose fucking house is this?”
The lunch crowd was light, so Kate finished earlier than expected. Good thing, because all she could think about was Billy. On her way home, she stopped at the Maine Mall, where she darted into Macy’s and picked up some jeans, sweaters, a dress shirt and a pair of slacks for Billy, as well as socks and underwear.
She expected to hear sounds of life as she came in through the garage and was disappointed when she didn’t. She was used to the quiet, but with Billy there, she had hoped—
Actually, she had no idea what she was hoping.
The click of Charlie’s nails on the wooden floor was the only sound to greet her as she piled the bags on the dining room table.
“Hey, buddy.” She scratched behind his ear. “Where’s Daddy?”
Charlie yawned and plopped down at her feet.
There was no sign of Billy by the pool, and he wasn’t in the family room. The door to the guest room was partway open. Judging by the even hum of his breathing, he was asleep.
She leaned against the doorjamb. His back was to her and he was shirtless, and she assumed, naked beneath the sheet. His hair was loose and spilled over the pillow. She watched his shoulder rise and fall.
You can either stand here like a creeper, get undressed, climb in beside him, and have wild make-up sex, or you can
go climb into your own bed alone and figure out what the hell it is you really want and whether you will ever forgive him.
If she had offered the different parts of her body a vote and the majority ruled, she would have been on him in a flash. But she didn’t. She climbed into her own bed in her boring bra and panties, wondering why she hadn’t invested in something fancier at the mall, just in case. Victoria’s Secret was right next to Macy’s, after all.
“Knock it off, Kate,” she muttered under her breath, her body still at war with her brain.
She set the alarm for five and pulled the covers over her head. When it went off a little while later, she reached over, hit it, and rolled onto her side to find Billy standing in the doorway, watching her.
How come it wasn’t creepy when he did it?
“Morning, sunshine.” He was wearing jeans and a New England Patriots T-shirt, and judging from the aroma, the mug in his hand held fresh coffee. “You could’ve napped with me, you know. That is, unless you still snore.”
“I don’t snore.”
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
He pushed off the door and headed for the kitchen. She slipped out of bed, grabbed her robe, and followed him into the kitchen.
“You went shopping?” He gestured at the bags on the dining room table.
“I guess you did, too.” She took the mug of coffee from him. “And don’t let your son see that.” She pointed to his T-shirt.
“I’m trying to immerse myself in the culture and act like a native.”
“Then you better work on that Midwestern accent.”
He grinned. “Okay, Jersey Girl.”
“Yeah, right,” she said as she dumped the contents of the bags onto the table. “I got you a few things: jeans, socks, sweaters. Just some stuff.”
He palmed his forehead. “I forgot socks.”
“I see you didn’t forget a razor.” He still had the goatee, but the rest of the scruff was gone.
“I know you’re not a fan.”
“You didn’t have to do that for me.” Color rose in her cheeks as she recalled the feeling of stubble on her face and neck, not to mention other places. Not daring to look at him, she grabbed the last bag. “I also got you a pair of dress slacks and a button-down. I thought we’d go out for dinner. You can wear jeans if you want, but it’s a nice place.”
“Whatever you suggest.”
“Look over this stuff first. Anything you don’t want, I can take back.”
Billy picked up one of the sweaters. “It’s 80 degrees outside.”
Why had she bought sweaters? “I, um, didn’t know how long you were staying. In case it gets cold. I can take them back. No biggie.”
He shook his head. “They’re great. Thank you.”
He pulled out a pair of jeans and a black button-down shirt and tugged off his T-shirt. She’d seen his new tattoo earlier but hadn’t wanted to stare. Now, just a foot away, she could see it was her name embedded in a Celtic symbol, surrounded with words she didn’t understand: “Katie. Bidh gaol agam ort fad mo bheatha, thusa’s gun duine eile.”
“What is that?” She pointed.
His eyes followed her finger, although he had to know what she was asking about. This time, she thought he might be the one to blush.
“It’s a Celtic heart knot. And that’s Scots Gaelic.” His grandparents had been Scottish. His father’s side was more of a mix, predominantly Scottish and Norwegian.
“What’s it say?”
His eyes met hers. “Katie. I will love you my whole life, you and no other.”
She pressed her lips together until she could speak without her voice betraying her. “When did you get it?”
“In the spring after I got out of jail. I haven’t changed my mind, you know.”
She wanted to ask how someone who felt that way could have found himself with another woman, but she bit her tongue.
Her eyes fell on the words inked along his rib cage proclaiming that he would always want her, always love her. Then there was her name tattooed around the ring finger on his left hand, and their wedding date and part of his vows to her across the thumb and wrist of his right hand.
Had he really needed so many reminders of how he was supposed to feel about the woman he’d married?
“I’m going to iron your shirt. If you want to call and make reservations, the number is on the refrigerator—The Channel Grill.”
The ironing board was in the little room at the end of the hall she used as an overflow closet. Not that she had that many clothes, but it was a good place to keep an iron and her sewing machine. She had just finished pressing the shirt when Billy appeared in the doorway.
He was holding up a slip of paper. “Where did you get this?”
She couldn’t read it from where she stood, but she didn’t need to. She recognized the stained piece of paper that had been hanging on her refrigerator for the past few months.
Oh, shit.
“Where did you get this?” he asked again, his voice sharper.
“You don’t have any right to be upset with me over that.”
“I’m not upset with you, but I might kill her.”
She unplugged the iron, took his hand, and led him into her room. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him down beside her.
“Let me explain.”
He looked as if he was going to be sick.
“Last year, right after Thanksgiving, I was looking for some Christmas stuff up in the attic, and I found the box of canceled checks that were all made out to Jessie Jones.”
Billy didn’t look as if he was breathing.
“The way my mind was working back then, I thought the worst. I thought that you had another child somewhere, or a girlfriend you were supporting.”
“Jesus, Katie.”
She pressed her fingers to his lips while she tried to think how to proceed. She could tell him those checks had been what pushed her over the edge, what made her finally act on her suicidal thoughts, but it would only hurt him. And what good would that do?
The moment she took her fingers away, he spoke. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
His hand curled into a fist and he pressed it hard against his thigh.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so not long after I got here, I asked Tom to find out who Jessie Jones was. He hired a private investigator who discovered she was your mother. I didn’t even know she was still alive, let alone had a stage name.”
“Yeah, her ‘stage name,’” he said with a guffaw. “What a load of crap.”
“Perhaps. It didn’t take very long for the detective to find out that she was . . . that she had threatened—”
“She was blackmailing me. I was paying her to stay away from our family and, more importantly, not to ever let my father know where we were.”
She nodded. “I know. Tom gave me the name and address, and I tried several times to write to her, to tell her I knew and to ask her to leave you alone.”
“Ha! Like she would’ve listened to you.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I just couldn’t say what I had to in a letter. I couldn’t express my anger the way I needed to and make her listen.”
He rubbed his hand hard across his face.
“So, anyway—”
“There’s more?”
“Like I said, I was too upset to express that in a letter. So I went to see her.”
“Jesus, Katie.” His fingers tightened around hers. “When?”
“In June. It was crazy and impulsive, and I probably shouldn’t have gone, but on the other hand, it felt so good to be able to grab something by the short hairs and deal with it. I wanted her to stop hurting you.”
He pressed her hand to his lips, then folded it in his much larger one. “How did you know she’d follow through?”
“Because I made her call you while I was there.” She paused for a moment. “I
don’t really even want to tell you this part, but if we’re going to be honest with each other, I kind of bribed her.”
A pained expression crossed his face. “At least you were speaking her language.”
“I guess. I gave her two options. I told her she could call and tell you to stop sending her money, or I would tell you I knew. Either way, it was over. But if she called, she had to apologize, and for that, I would give her money.”
“And she wanted the money?”
She nodded.
“How much?”
She felt uncomfortable. “Too much. But I did it for you. It was important to me that she apologize. Everything else she said of her own volition.”
“Do you think I believed her?”
“Probably not.”
“Not for one second. I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop, although for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it could be.”
“Well, it’s over. She won’t bother you anymore.” She traced a finger over the tattoo on his wrist. “There’s something else she told me.”
“I can only imagine.”
“She said your father died about twelve years ago. I’m sorry.”
He laughed. It was a hard, angry sound. “I’m not sure if I should believe that either. How?”
“All she said was that it happened in prison. I got the impression it may have been from a fight.”
“Live by the sword, die by the sword,” he mumbled, following up with a weak smile. “So are you going to tell me how much you gave her?”
“It was worth every penny,” she said defensively.
“That much?”
She winced.
“Maybe I don’t want to know,” he said.
“That’s probably for the best.”
He kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For dealing with my mother. I’m sorry you had to do it, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”