Meet Cate

by Fiona Barnes

  “Delicious,” Cate told them. “Hummus adds texture to the pretzel flavor. Cashew butter would work, too. You try it and let me know!"

  The rest of the show flew by.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cate was snapped back to the present as a notification rang on her laptop.

  "You there?" It was Mike, typing through an app that allowed them to chat online.

  "Miss me?" Cate wrote in answer, biting back a smile.

  "Nope."

  "You could've lied," Cate sniffed.

  "So much I can't breathe," Mike typed, grinning.

  "Yeah, yeah," Cate answered. It was hard not to smile when Mike was around. She pulled the fisherman's cardigan she wore closer around her. She'd bought it in Ireland, delighted to find it and loving the story behind it−the laptop dinged again.

  "What are you doing?"

  Daydreaming, Cate backspaced. "Brainstorming."

  "Anything good?"

  "Yes." Cate jotted C's friends, holiday ep/cook & eat for hungry in pencil, under her spice rack notes. An email prompt popped up on the bottom left of her screen. "Hold on, I've got a new email."

  "I see how it is," Mike wrote back, patient.

  "It's from Tom."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cate sucked in a breath. She didn't realize she was holding it until she heard Mike's ding.

  "You dead?"

  Almost, she thought.

  The bell softly panged. "Need me?"

  Cate nodded at her screen. Unshed tears made her eyes sparkle. Her hands were clenched at her sides, tightly fished.

  "Be right there," he typed as if he could see her. She only nodded at the screen.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tom had taken to writing Cate emails, in his PTSD, instead of speaking directly to her. It was a quick way to reach her. It was also his way to speak up when he was too emotional to face her.

  The emails didn't open with Dear Cate, or hello. There was no signature, no Love, Tom, or even F−you. They just ended, leaving Cate with a slimy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The purpose wasn't to make Cate feel awful about herself, although that was often the result. Tom's PTSD caused his self-worth to plummet. His words lashed out at Cate and caused her own confidence to sink. The desperate hurt caused by his disease was contagious.

  Deep in his disease, Cate didn't feel she could speak honestly to Tom. If she could have, she would have gently told him his writing hurt and frightened her. But Tom's PTSD embraced his pride fully. She would rather take the email with grace than damage the man further. She wanted him to live in a world where his emails set her straight. And that cost her.

  Mike sat back after reading this one.

  "Wow," was all he said. Mike's chin, set in a hard line, lifted slightly. He studied her, wondering what she thought.

  Like most, Mike thought Cate should move on with her life. She didn't deserve this treatment, disease or no. He also knew that she was loyal and wanted to understand Tom's illness. Most of the time, she didn't take Tom's behavior personally. After a hit like this, though, it was hard not to.

  Cate sat, staring, re-reading before she cleared her throat and rose. She closed the laptop in a business-like manner and strode to her office to put it away.

  "Want to take a walk?" she asked Mike over her shoulder as she stalked through the kitchen, frustration rampant. There was little else she could do. Worry was always an option, but not one she liked to subscribe to.

  "Yeah," he called out eloquently, lifting his voice so she'd hear him. On second thought, he followed her through the expansive kitchen and into her gracious office. She was muttering under her breath.

  "He wants money." Cate fussed with the cord, wrapping it neatly and clasping it in Velcro. She laid the cord on top of the overturned laptop, exposing the fan. "He wants the children to fly out to him for the holidays. Wherever he is."

  Mike leaned against the door frame. Cate's small frame moved like a tornado as she rearranged already neat office supplies and desk content. Slamming books down, admiring the heavy noise, she continued to talk to herself, or him−he wasn't sure. He thought about grinning, deciding he might. Life was serious business (and it had hurt her plenty) but Mike knew Cate.

  Like he knew she would, she whirled on him. "What are you smiling about?"

  "Hey−" He played his part, eliciting the opportunity he knew she wanted. Maybe needed.

  "Seriously! This is not a funny situation." Now her attention was fully on Mike.

  "You're cute." Mike grinned a lazy smile at Cate.

  She watched him for a beat, speechless, then went back to rearranging pencils. "Cute," she muttered. "There's that word again."

  "What did you say?"

  "Nothing."

  "Do you want to walk?"

  "I want to power walk," Cate told him. "To Arizona."

  They settled on the gym, where Cate could lift and punch without words, taking time to process her emotions while staying close to Mike. He comforted her with his presence, easily lifting five times what she could. After awhile the punching bag in front of her grew to look less like a human head and more like the equipment it was.

  Cate wandered to the edge of the mat. With effort, she lifted her slender arms, glistening with sweat.

  Mike looked at her, his eyes bright with unshed humor, waiting.

  "Thanks," was all she said.

  He only nodded, his grin sincere this time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It would take Cate time to process Tom's words and her feelings about them. Part of the problem lay in the temporary pattern of the disease−as soon as she adjusted to Tom's behavior toward her, it would change.

  She dressed conservatively in jeans, boots and a thick sweater over a t-shirt, wrapping her neck in a favorite scarf. It was soft and never failed to comfort her. She added a worn, chocolate-brown leather jacket to the pile she'd created near the door. The days were gradually dawning more chilly.

  Hurt and confused, Cate knew she had to be the change she sought. What often helped was work, allowing her brain to think through what it needed to in the background. The other thing that helped was giving. This often took her mind off her own life for as long as she needed to work out a solution. The simple work also served to balance Cate, replacing the damage done by the disease and reminding her she was okay.

  Cate decided to do up her holiday tree early.

  Flipping on the lights in her office, Cate opened the locked filing cabinet, and searched under C for Christmas: holiday tree. The file was thick because Cate compiled information all year long. She didn't add names, ages or anything identifying in her notes. She only wrote sizes, desires and ideas that sometimes reminded her of a face or faces.

  Today, she'd shop. Later, she'd duplicate her notes and group them on pretty ornaments hanging from a tree set up in the audience. This encouraged viewers to shop and return with gifts to place under it. She would pass these gifts onto The Foundation (the charity for children she and Alex had started years ago). Cate hoped one day Alex would run the non-profit; she was certainly organized enough. And very dedicated.

  Cate lifted the hefty pile of catalogs she'd saved. Thumbing through them, she added three to her open bag, next to the thick file of notes.

  She locked the cabinet and turned off the light. Walking through the kitchen, Cate patted Merry goodbye then opened the garage door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Settled on the train, Cate sat with the catalogs. She spent her time happily marking items in twos and threes. Warm flannel and jeans were bought in groups. She picked out colorful t-shirts for layering; bright hoodies and sweaters for warmth; thick socks and quilted coats. Adding mittens, scarves, gloves and hats from a second catalog−this one a smaller company but still American-made−Cate felt almost done. She checked her list, nodding, going back to look for raincoats and rain boots. These were necessities, Cate felt, ones that strapped momma bears often couldn't consider.

  Wh
ile she was shopping, she'd add an order for Millie's twins, Hannah and Harriet. The adorable two-some would be five this year, growing up in and out of Cate's homes for almost all of their lives.

  Millie had almost canceled her original interview due to lack of childcare. Cate really wanted a reliable, trustworthy housekeeper. She'd had a feeling she'd found one in Millie before they'd even sat down. Cate didn't mind the extra visitors one bit, setting up a doll-sized table in front of the fireplace, leaving crayons and coloring books out on the kitchen table. It had been sweet to watch the shy girls hesitate, unsure of how much kindness they would accept from the new woman.

  Millie had been grateful. Cate was in love. The two single mothers bonded and a team was built.

  Cate's cart filled again with pretty woolen coats, matching mitten sets with long scarves, and stylish, warm boots.

  Now it was time to move on to toys.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cate texted Alex with a grin, to warn her there would be Christmas bills coming to The Foundation. Then Cate settled back with the thick wish book and a fat Sharpie. She circled a few shiny bikes, moving naturally to smaller, more sentimental items like dolls, crayons and trucks−both Matchbox and Tonka.

  The audience always knew what the hottest toys were at Christmastime and Cate's fans loved to buy them. That left her full run of the classic toys everyone treasured.

  Characters with staying power sometimes made their way into her cart, like SpongeBob or the Disney princess'. Today, Cate started with Barbie, adding the doll to her cart in several different hair colors. She also added accessories: high-heeled shoes and pink frilly dresses, a few pieces of blocky furniture and one or two career-based playsets.

  Cate always bought a few floppy rag dolls (to her, they felt easier to lug around) and some plush teddy bears. Invariably, she added a stuffed dog or two−Cate was a slave to floppy ears−a few plush cats (she always picked white or gray) and one or two soft rabbits, or something else less usual. Cate glanced up and out the large window for a minute, noting another beautiful sunrise. She breathed in the beauty of it, feeling better already, then flipped the page to puppets.

  She wanted every precious child to be heard. Desperately.

  That was the mission of the charity: that each child had a strong voice. She and Alex wanted to guide children to be both heard and listened to. And if that wasn't happening from the adults in the child's life, the pair wanted to teach children how to listen to their voices for themselves. Cate never wanted a child to have to use so much strength surviving that they couldn't hear where they were going and what their heart said. It saddened her to know statistically just how much pain was in so many children's lives. Cate desperately hoped she was making a difference and setting a good example. If she could do it, anyone could was her motto.

  Next came Alex's part. Her heart was teaching the children how to hear what those voices were saying. The heart is loud when it wants to be, she was fond of saying. Sometimes it's a whisper, other times it's a growl−but it's always there.

  These were all mottos they'd kicked around when Cate, Alex and Nic had started the non-profit. Nic's interest veered to music, of course. He was a role-model, making time to visit with children and leave them with the focus that they could do anything, anytime, anywhere. And he often did. He'd bring a pile of guitars, a couple of amps, his mic and a keyboard. The children would bang and strum and talk. Anyone who was interested could tour his studio. He'd offer the older, more serious children an attempt at producing, and he always gave away tickets and back-stage passes.

  Nic's feeling was that people of all ages got so much out of music. He wanted them to be able to enjoy it as a life-long passion, the earlier the better. The three agreed that music healed and sought to introduce it both as inspiration and medication.

  Cate made a mental note to ask him for his donation: each year he sent hand-picked classic and bass guitars. Nic also liked to donate drum sticks and a bag full of merchandise: t-shirts, hats, pictures and music. Each piece was signed by every band member. Often, Nic would involve the band, who would then purchase instruments for local schools or younger people who needed financial assistance. Cate would do a piece on her show around Christmastime, loving the inspiring feeling that evolved. She'd encourage the audience to donate if they felt they could give a little. The total was often enough to help at least one more young student of music. Nic and his band would play, making the whole atmosphere festive and celebratory. Music did that, Cate felt.

  Alex texted back: Bet you're having fun.

  Cate smiled, her daughter knew her so well. Stretching languidly, she glanced back at her phone, vibrating an incoming call.

  It was Tom.

  Chapter Twenty

  What, she stifled the urge to spit out.

  Instead she answered, "Hello?" Cate needed to be firm in order to protect herself from whatever was coming. She glanced down at her catalogs, the peaceful morning shattered.

  "Hello." Tom sounded gruff.

  Cate waited. Questions flashed through her mind: Where are you? What do you want? Why are you calling me? but she kept still.

  "How are the kids?" he asked finally.

  "They're fine," Cate answered calmly. She pursed her lips and drew in a breath, letting it out quietly. What is it? What do you want?

  "I talked to Nic last night. Sounds like his tour is going well." Tom was uncomfortable. Cate could not risk trying to make him feel at ease, she'd only endanger her heart. She sat straight, her spine rebar.

  "As it always does." Cate bit her tongue. She wouldn't apologize for the retort.

  Tom ignored it. "I can't reach Alex," he said conversationally.

  "Is that why you called?"

  "Oh, no. I'm sure she'll call me back soon. She's very busy." Tom told Cate all of these facts as if he were catching her up on his children. His disease tended to forget the very important link she had to them. When Cate didn't answer, he finished, "I just wanted to check in."

  "Where are you, Tom?" Cate asked. "Are you all right?"

  There was a beat. Then two.

  "I'm okay," he answered her finally, slowly. There was a catch in his voice but the message was clear: I don't trust you. You don't need to know my business. You'd never know they'd once been married, the closest relationship two people could have.

  "Tom, Alex is prepping for the holiday season. This is her busy time. She'll get back to you soon." Cate wanted him not to pester Al; suddenly it was terribly important that he not think ill of their daughter. Maybe a very small part of her wanted to reassure him.

  "Oh, that's right. Of course." He covered quickly, relieved. He didn't realize his response often mimicked hers. On a subconscious level, he gave back the response he perceived.

  "Tom−"

  "I have to go."

  "Goodbye." And he was gone.

  Cate let the cell phone fall to her lap, the call over. She stared out the tall train window, thinking, as scenery rushed by.

  Tom ran through these patterns about once a season. Despite their divorce, when he felt something he reached for Cate. Now it was up to her to understand what he needed and how she could help him.

  Cate never subscribed to the theory that she should walk away from Tom; he was her children's father and once upon a time, he'd been her best friend. He may have pushed her out of that role, but she still thought of him as someone she'd cared about. She never would stop feeling compassion for him, she supposed now. It wasn't even a choice.

  Cate knew several things from the brief phone call: the immediate threat of their adult children flying to him for the holidays was over. Tom wouldn't admit it, but Cate knew from experience he wouldn't have called her if he considered the issue ongoing. She was also aware that she wouldn't relax for quite some time. And, she realized, Tom was in crisis and was probably holed up somewhere. He probably wouldn't be back in time to spend the holiday season with their family unless she drew him out.

  She idly
wondered what else he had in store for her, if he was okay, and where he'd gone off to.

  Passengers around her shuffled their briefcases and bags, as Cate snapped out of her reverie and returned to the present with a foggy heart. She pushed piles of papers and catalogs into her leather carpetbag and watched the city pull into view. Grand Central flashed red on a sign ahead of her, as they entered the long tunnel that led to the beautiful station.

  She'd have to tell the children she suspected their dad's holiday plans had been withdrawn. They'd have questions. Maybe Alex would come for a night and they could just talk. Nic would have some good, sturdy ideas for how to reach his dad.

  Cate knew both children would respond with full hearts. (Even at their respective ages, she still referred to them as her children.) Nic's peace would come after helping. Alex would stay mute, loving her father through the rough patch, sharing her open heart with Cate only. They were used to his disease, and after some rebound time for their own feelings, their instinct would be to support Tom.

  In the meantime, their hearts would gain another wrinkle. The only thing Cate could do was tell them gently (she wished she didn't have to, but she wanted to release them from worry for their family and for her). After that, it was their move. She always supported the two, but it cost her greatly to know this was the man she'd chosen for them: a strong man who'd been broken. Therefore she'd brought this monster, PTSD, to their door.

  Cate's mood was somber as she prepared to dismount the train and begin another workday. The walk would help. She dug into the deep pocket of her bag, searching for light pink earbuds.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Mike was driving. Cate stared out the car window. In front of her on the floorboard, she'd slipped her clunky black clogs off. Now she covered one tiny, stocking-covered foot with the other on top of the shoes. Her toes stretched up toward the heat vent.