Meet Cate

by Fiona Barnes

  "Mike−"

  "Cate," the dimple she rarely saw blinked at her. He lifted a second dish towel, moving next to her and reaching for the last clear plate she'd placed on the wooden drying rack.

  "I need to talk to you." She stalled momentarily, hesitating.

  "About?" He was less interested in her conversation and more in the last of the fat strawberries, still sitting in the stainless steel sink after being rinsed.

  "Let's go sit outside," Cate told him. She avoided his eyes as she shook water droplets from the strawberry container before placing it in the refrigerator. She folded the dish towel she held, replacing it neatly on the oven handle, exaggerating care as a way to buy time. "Do you want a drink?"

  "It's that kind of a conversation?" Mike leaned back against the counter, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his thick arms crossed. The typical lazy grin that seemed so at home on his face told her he didn't know what was coming, while his body language argued that he did.

  Cate reached for the buttery wine they'd enjoyed, only to veto it. She opened the small refrigerator, and leaning down, she found milk, cream, a clear glass pitcher of water, and orange juice. Settling on the water, Cate closed the door and lifted a lemon, inspecting it. She scrubbed the outside ferociously. Then she sliced it quickly, using a small wooden cutting board and a sharp knife she pulled from the strong magnet above the sink. She tossed each piece into the pitcher, concentrating, the consistency of her own fluid movement comforting. Each lemon landed with a splash, making a plop that Cate might've found pleasing at any other time.

  Cate slowly poured two tall glasses then placed the pitcher back in the fridge, her brain making mental notes of what needed to be done before she closed up the cozy cabin for her new friend at the gas station, Sam.

  Once outside, Cate placed the drinks on a low table between two Adirondack chairs. Settling reluctantly, Cate adjusted the pretty lime-green cushion, decorated with white palm tree silhouettes, behind her lower back. She was stalling again. She didn't want to hurt Mike, and she wasn't sure she could finish this conversation without touching on, at least, his pride.

  "Cate," he started. Standing at the stained deck rail, his broad back to her, Mike looked out over the water. He wanted to kayak, he wanted to run. He thought he knew what was coming and he didn't want to hear it. "What is it?"

  Cate didn't see any reason to mince words. He knew what he meant to her−hopefully. "I'm going home."

  Mike turned to face her, a study of chiseled Roman beauty against a backdrop of serene water and brilliant colors, the cover of the novel she'd never written. His muscular arms bent, one elbow supporting his weight against the railing. She half expected him to crook a finger and invite her closer. A few days ago, she might've accepted that interesting thought.

  Mike just looked at her, nothing showing on his face. He'd always let her answer her own questions, listening thoroughly but quietly. If Mike had views about anything Cate did or said, he often kept them to himself.

  "I had a wonderful time, Mike. I've just got some things I've got to do. Stuff to work out."

  He looked at her for a long moment, as only he could, understanding dawning in his beautiful eyes. His eyes looked away then, toward the forest where her Jeep sat, waiting. They skimmed the trees, slowly, as if he were looking for something−a sign? Finally, Mike spoke in a low voice. "You deserve to be happy."

  She nodded, a lump in her throat. Looking away for a beat herself, she answered, "I do know that. I think I just forgot."

  "You deserve good things," he told her now, tenderly, as he crossed the deck and crouched in front of her.

  "You do, too, Mike. I need to concentrate," she told him, filling space where their words stopped and their eyes started. "Um, on me." Shaking her head to clear it, she placed her hand on his shoulder and pushed, standing.

  Turning her head once, she saw Mike settle back on his heels, the twinkle returning to his eyes. Cate pushed open the sliding glass door, looking for her phone. She wanted music.

  Mike called after her, "Pretty small house to hide."

  "I'm not−" Finding her phone on the counter, Cate strode back toward the sound of his voice. When she reached the screen, she stopped dead, Mike's face appearing on the other side suddenly. "Hiding. I'm not hiding. Mike−"

  "What?" he asked innocently, biting back a grin.

  "Move," Cate pushed past him, phone in hand, and sat on the wide bench that adjoined the lower deck rail. She placed her phone on the weathered wood before her, scrolling through music channels. Finding her Boston playlist, she hit play and pushed the phone away, looking toward the water.

  "Cate," Mike plunked down behind her, realizing he probably wasn't taking Cate as seriously as she had expected.

  "Yes?" She drew her knees up in front of her, wrapping her arms around her legs and pushing her face into them.

  "I hope−"

  "What?"

  He shook his head.

  "Tell me." Grateful, relieved, Cate turned and poked one long finger into his side. "What were you going to say?"

  "You're not getting rid of me," Mike said seriously.

  Cate nodded, touched.

  "I hope you find someone who treats you the way you deserve to be treated and loved the way you deserve to be loved."

  "That's the point, Mike. I don't want to find someone. I want to live my life." Mike just nodded. "I want to go back home, pick up cooking, find my life again−find me."

  Their faces were inches apart. Mike reached up, tracing her cheek slowly. As he did, he wiped the lone tear that fell with the smooth pad of his thumb.

  "You know−you know it's not you, right? Tell me you do," Cate whispered.

  "I know," he answered softly. She smelled her coconut shampoo in his hair, her favorite lemony soap on his skin. For a minute, they stared at one another. "Catie−"

  Cate looked down at her toes, wiggling them, suddenly uncomfortable. Mike did a lot of things very well. His confidence inspired her. His love made her feel safe, his teasing, special. But when he spoke sentimentally, she froze. It was more than she ever expected, more, she felt, than she deserved.

  Mike was someone she'd always looked up to. He was what she thought she'd wanted, from the time she was a little girl. Young enough to wear a curtain on her head and parade around with her friends in tall high heels. A big, strong man, someone who'd care for and about her. Someone she could laugh with, travel with, and be completely herself with. He was good to her friends, her puppy and her children. The former he'd helped himself to, flirting with each of the beautiful women, making sure Cate saw. He was beautiful, he was kind, he was sweet.

  Boston sang on, I Had A Good Time filling the moment perfectly.

  "You deserve all good things," Mike was saying. "Only the best."

  Tears stung her eyes as she reached for him.

  Chapter Seventy One

  Cate awoke the next morning rested and full of a beautiful freedom. The day felt delicious; it felt like the first glorious day of summer with no school and nothing to do. She stretched deliciously, her arms reaching toward the tall ceiling in her sunlit bedroom. Exaggerating a long yawn, Cate delighted herself with the noise.

  Pushing back the pile of covers, Cate danced to the kitchen, wanting a hot mug of coffee to begin her day. While she waited for it to brew, Cate mixed fresh cream, adding vanilla and a splash of peppermint to homemade condensed milk. Taking a very small pan from the rack, Cate heated a batch, then poured a long dribble into her cup. She efficiently tidied up her mess, the smell of the hot coffee mingling in the air with the brisk scent of peppermint. Holding the warm mug between two hands, sipping as she walked, Cate's bare feet tapped noiselessly through the house.

  Cate headed right, toward her office. She should have known Millie had been here. The house smelled like fresh lemon and everything shone. In her office, with the sun coming up, Cate surveyed the room. On her desk sat mail, waiting to be taken care of. Cate noted it for M
ary or her own new assistant's first duties. Looking beyond her neat piles, Cate surveyed the light coming through the wide window from the inviting sun room straight ahead of her. Moving toward it, Cate opened the door and gracefully stepped through. It was the perfect place to sit with her coffee but Cate found she had energy to burn. She stood at the window, looking out over the hill her home perched on, thinking of so many things.

  She felt content. She felt at ease and peaceful. More than that, Cate felt powerful. Sipping steaming coffee, she watched the sun's rays embrace the landscape. She pictured the sun smiling, content in its work.

  Turning, she retraced her steps to the kitchen slowly, looking over her house with fresh eyes. Cate remembered the day she'd walked through for the first precious time.

  Her children in tow, the builder had led her to each beautifully decorated room, then stood back. As if she were on a television show, Cate's hands had flown to her face and she'd stared, speechless. Her eyes had filled with tears. Her children, one on each arm, had exclaimed politely and sincerely in her place, but all eyes were on Cate.

  When they'd reached the kitchen, Jon, the builder, had said, "The kitchen is your base of operations−" He'd spoken casually, trying to decide if her quiet was a good thing. Cate had only stared, running her hands over the granite island, taking in the shiny double wall ovens, the huge cooktop. He'd finished, "−for a chef of your caliber."

  The custom cabinets that reached almost balcony level had caught her eye, and she'd let out a small, "Oh!" She was taking the rugged man's words in. No one had ever spoken of her that way and Cate was feeling understood. More than that, she couldn't believe she lived here. It felt like a beautiful dream.

  Jon's contagious grin was hard to hide.

  When they'd viewed most of the first floor, the group had stood before Cate's master suite's double doors. Jon had motioned for her to go in alone. Cate had toured the elegant room. She had peeked through the huge closet into the en suite. Everything had glistened, being new and gorgeous. It was exactly like she'd imagined it, only this time it was real. This divine time it was hers.

  "Cate?" Jon had joined her in the doorway, as Alex and Nic looked everywhere at once, taking in each sleek surface. A wide mirror sat over two sinks, across from a sleek jetted tub, under a garden window. Recessed lighting softly showcased the room, allowing for a gentle experience. The shower was built into tile walls, providing privacy as she'd asked. The walls were a light silver, looking noble and luxurious in the sunlight that slid through expensive wooden blinds.

  "You−you−" Finally finding words, Cate had cleared her throat, one hand sliding down to cover her neck as if to comfort her voice into cooperating. "You hire someone, you pay them. But you can't−you just can't express how much it means when you're standing in it."

  Jon looked down then, proud. He'd worked ambitiously with Cate; Steele, his architect; and Donna, his decorator; to bring Cate's ideas to life. She'd been very specific, showing him plans she'd drawn herself, itemized down to the last outlet, including designing her own closet.

  When Jon had offered suggestions, Cate had listened carefully and often said, "I trust you."

  She had agreeably picked her favorites out of the expensive tile and floor samples he had showed her and the fabrics and colors Donna wanted her to see. Cate felt she had learned enough about Jon and Steele, and even Donna, to know that the final outcome would be better than even her dreams. She had worked as hard as she could on the reno, taking any job offered, learning incredible tasks she'd never use again. She'd ripped up floors, knocked out walls, tiled and painted. She'd helped build the porch and re-build the main staircase. She'd prayed for the roofers and listened to sound advice about every segment of home building, adding her okay as needed. Cate had begun to love the smell of sawdust each morning. She'd found herself adoring the sound of the circular saw as it pulled through wood, fighting with the rapid click of nail guns. The buzz of a drill, the fainter noise of the crew talking and rock blasting.

  Cate had watched the framing go in, taking photos late at night, after Jon's crew had gone home. When at last the appliances were going in, and the house was beginning to show its personality, Donna had arrived in her Cadillac. Following her had been a furniture truck and a box truck filled with luscious linens, farm-style ladder-back dining room chairs, colorful throw rugs, wooden table lamps and silver floor lamps. Donna had cleaned out her warehouse for Cate, immediately understanding Cate's style and delighted to work with the easy-going woman. Cate, herself, had been surprised how effortless the reno felt and how comfortable Donna made her feel. Cate had completely allowed Jon, Steele and Donna to run the show, grateful to be a part of the team and aware they held the expertise.

  She wished she'd paid them after she'd seen the work. Cate would have doubled the amount and still not felt it was enough.

  When Merry barked, she jolted Cate back to reality, sloshing coffee on the bathroom floor, remembering. Cleaning the spill up with a paper towel she found under the sink, Cate turned toward her closet. Pulling a bright pink knee-length sheath from the hangar, she tugged it over her head. Adding statement jewelry in sparkly silver, Cate stepped into heels of a matching shade. Moving to the over-sized mirror in her bedroom, leaning against the wall in a gilded frame, she tossed her hair, checked her lipstick, and content, stepped to the door.

  Returning her coffee mug to the kitchen, she rinsed it and placed the cup in the dishwasher. On the kitchen table, surrounded by early morning light, stood a beautiful, vast display of flowers, all pinks, purples and reds. Thinking she'd really have to tell Millie, again, how wonderful she was, Cate saw a small florist's note sticking up out of the arrangement.

  Crossing the room, her heels clicking in staccato, she grabbed for the note. Stowing the envelope in her pocket, Cate noticed Mike's small, scrawled handwriting.

  "Shoot the moon," she read. "Mike."

  Chapter Seventy Two

  Cate took her good mood to the city, smiling at everyone she passed. On the train, ladies elbowed other ladies and sometimes men, noticing Cate's effervescence and writing it off as love.

  Cate wasn't in love. She was centered, balanced and grounded. She was free.

  And she planned to take it out on her tremendous audience, Cate decided, as she lifted her face to the first few flurries of the year. Wanting desperately to stick her tongue out, as she and Al and Nic used to do, Cate pushed forward, toward the busy studio.

  Inside the heavy glass door, she greeted Ralph warmly, "See the snow?"

  Ralph smiled at the vision in front of him. Cate's hair, as well as the shoulders of her bright pink wool coat, was sprinkled with snow flakes. Her enthusiasm, as usual, was palpable. "Yes, I do." His eyes twinkled.

  "How's the baby?" Cate asked now.

  "She's great." His eyes filmed up at the thought. "Want to see a picture?" Without waiting to hear, Ralph fired up his phone, swiping a thick finger until he found what he wanted. He extended it to Cate, who closed in.

  "Ohh! She's precious," Cate exclaimed.

  "Yeah." Ralph was lost in the photo. "She's such a good girl."

  Cate's eyes smiled at Ralph, fully remembering her first experience falling in love with her own child. "Cammy's doing well?"

  "Yes." All business again, Ralph remembered his duty. "She said to say thank you for the beautiful cradle. We love it. Annie naps in it−when we're not holding her."

  "Use it in good health," Cate told Ralph, patting him on the shoulder. He had the air of a much older man and that comforted her. "Please give your girls my love."

  Nodding, Ralph's attention turned back toward the door as others began to file through. Cate always arrived mid-morning, so as not to get caught up in the crowds that came to her tapings and the others taping nearby. She enjoyed the quiet of the building before the audience filed in, with only her faithful crew on the set. There was always laughter from the test kitchen and buzzing throughout the busy hallways even as Cate kept to hersel
f.

  On today's show, she'd planned to talk about the upcoming holidays, reminding her viewers to take exceptionally good care of themselves during the busy season when welcome visitors were bound to be plenty. Cate wanted to talk about one of her favorite meals and she was excited.

  Melissa was in her office and called out as Cate walked past.

  "Yes?" Cate backed up.

  "Mary's ready for her playdate," Melissa teased.

  Cate walked into the room and plunked down in the comfortable plush chair that sat across from Melissa's desk. She crossed her legs neatly. "What shall I do with her?"

  "Talk to her about what you need done." Melissa was typing, speaking around the pencil in her mouth.

  "What do I need done?"

  "Mm, I don't know, Catie. Files organized? Blog updates? How's your media packet?"

  Cate changed the subject. "I have to ask you about what to expect salary-wise before I begin interviewing for my own."

  Melissa looked up for a minute, happiness lighting her face. She took the pencil from her mouth, rotating it in a circle on her desk with two fingers as she spoke. "I'm so glad! That makes me so happy."

  "Salary is−"

  "You won't care."

  "I already pay a few."

  "So do I," Melissa said dryly.

  "You're producing a show," Cate replied, comfortable with her friend. "I'm producing−me."

  "Who do you pay for?"

  Cate ticked off her fingers, "Gardner, snow removal−"

  "Those are homeowner bills," Melissa smiled. "Everyone has those."

  "Accountant, masseuse−" Cate smirked.

  "Yes? What else do you have?"

  "Personal trainer, stylist−" Cate thought, her brow furrowed, her smile crinkled. She stared at the plush off-white carpet, as if she could see the answers written there in a beautiful script.

  Melissa studied her friend, liking how much lighter she seemed.