All I Ever Wanted: Of Love and Madness, Book Three

by Cimms, Karen

  “That they have high-handed friends?”

  Tom laughed but didn’t turn around. When Harold pulled up in front of the building, he asked if she would like him to walk her inside. She flashed him a dirty look.

  “I’ll be back to pick you up around two,” he said. “Have a nice da—”

  She slammed the door and headed toward the entrance. They were still there when she reached the building, waiting for her to enter before pulling away. She walked back to the car.

  “Thanks for the ride. Now do me another favor and look around. The neighborhood is not that bad, and there is plenty of parking right by the building. It’s perfectly safe. I don’t need an escort.”

  “We’ll see,” Harold said.

  “Insufferable.” She spun around and headed inside.

  When Tom picked her up three hours later, her arms were sore from peeling and chopping vegetables and her legs hurt from standing for so long, but for the first time in a long while she felt she had accomplished something worthwhile.

  “How was it?” he asked as she climbed into his Lexus.

  “Exhausting but good.” She settled into the comfy, air-conditioned seat. “I was nervous at first, but everyone is nice, and it’s so busy the time flew by. The food is kind of blah, and they need lots of supplies, but it’s food. Fills the gut, right?”

  “I guess,” he answered, heading toward the highway. “You hungry?”

  “No, I had some leftover lentil soup. What I would like is a nap.”

  “Poolside nap? Sounds perfect. How about I take you to dinner tonight?”

  She crinkled her face. “I’m so tired. How about we eat in? We can go to The Channel Grill tomorrow night. I’m sure that’s what you had in mind.”

  “It is. I’ll drop you off, then run to the grocery store. I’ll cook tonight.”

  She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes. “Sounds wonderful.”

  “Good. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

  She cracked an eye open.

  “Tommy.” Her voice carried a warning note.

  “You know, not everything is about you, Miss Thang,” he answered, doing his best Joey Buccacino impression.

  She laughed in spite of the pang of sadness that followed. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  They drove for a few minutes in comfortable silence.

  “Oh, hey! We’re all set for your birthday.”

  “What?” She jerked forward so quickly the seat belt locked against her chest. “I don’t even want to acknowledge my birthday. You know how the last one went. I’m done with birthdays.”

  “Nope. Not going to let you wallow.”

  “I’m not wallowing. I’m being realistic.”

  He shook his head. “We’ll have a nice dinner at Sur Le Mer. Harold and Jeff are joining us. Very low-key, but I think you need to celebrate the fact that you survived the worst year of your life and that it’s over.”

  “I don’t want to. We can have dinner at home. Please, no fuss. I feel guilty.”

  He stole a quick glance. “Why would you feel guilty?”

  “Because even though I’m trying not to think about it, I can’t help but wonder about my kids and, you know, what they’re thinking. I can’t bear the thought that they may spend the day thinking about me and what I might be doing. The thought of actually celebrating just doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “We’re not talking party hats and noisemakers, Kate. We’re talking about a nice dinner with people who care about you and want to see you happy and moving forward. That’s all. If it was any other day, you wouldn’t have a problem with going out to dinner, would you?”

  She answered reluctantly. “I guess not.”

  “That’s all it is. Dinner with friends.”

  “I guess. Not that what I say matters anyway.”

  “True.”

  She chewed on her lip and thought about it. “So, Sur Le Mer. Is that the old converted ferry in South Portland?

  “That’s the one.”

  “I’ve wanted to go there. Can we get a seat outside on the deck?”

  “If you’d like.”

  “Good.” She settled back into her seat. “And Tommy? Anyone comes out with a cake or sings ‘Happy Birthday,’ I’m jumping overboard.”

  “Duly noted.”

  * * *

  After a dinner of barbecued chicken and tomato salad, they sat at the outdoor table, watching the pink rays of the setting sun deepen into an indigo sky. A sliver of moon rose over Cousins Island. Kate poured another splash of white zinfandel in her glass and topped Tom’s off as well.

  “That was lovely,” she said. “I feel positively spoiled.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She stretched her legs out onto the empty chair beside her.

  “You look good, Kate. Healthy, peaceful. I guess coming up here was the right thing after all.”

  It was the right thing—for her. And while she had dealt with much of the guilt she’d carried since the shooting, there was new guilt to face: the guilt from hurting her family by walking out on them.

  “Liz has helped me so much. I’ve faced so many battles, both old and new, these past few months. I’ve come a long way from the person I was last November.”

  A chipmunk raced along the edge of the pavers and darted under the rosa rugosa. She lifted her glass and gave it a swirl, the wine mimicking the colors of the diluted sunset.

  “Mentally, I’m doing better, but my heart is still broken. I don’t think Liz can fix that. The best I can hope for is to be strong enough to live with a broken heart. At least I know it won’t kill me.”

  And it wouldn’t. She couldn’t fix or change anything that had happened, but she would survive it.

  “You said you wanted to talk.”

  He held up his index finger, took a fortifying sip of his wine, and set down the glass. “Stephanie wants a divorce.”

  “What?” She jerked forward, scrapping her shin along the edge of the metal chair and nearly toppling her glass. “Why?”

  “She found someone else.”

  “Oh, Tommy.” She searched his face for a clue on how to respond. “I’m sorry?”

  He laughed. “I’m not.”

  “What about Lian?”

  “It’s all good. Years too late, but good. We’ll share custody. She’s keeping the house, but I may be relocating. Which is where you come in.”

  “Are you moving up here?”

  He shook his head. “This isn’t home for me. It’s a nice place to visit as long as you’re here, but I was thinking of New York.”

  “What about your practice?”

  “After Stephanie told me about Steven, I told her about Joey. She was shocked. I mean, she’d figured out I was gay, but she had no idea that I had met the love of my life. To her credit, she actually cried when she realized what I’ve been through this past year and how I’ve had to keep everything a secret.”

  He stared into his glass and twirled the stem between his fingers. “She also convinced me to tell my parents.”

  “And?”

  “Let’s just say they took it better than I expected. They’re not about to make an announcement at the country club, but they said they’ll learn to accept it. And no matter what, they love me.”

  His voice cracked. Kate understood how bittersweet this was for him—the pain of having been unable to do this while Joey was still alive, and the joy of finally being able to be who he was with the people who loved him most.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and held onto him until he pulled himself together.

  They sat quietly, watching night claim the last of the day’s light.

  “Joey’s business needs more than someone to make sure payroll is met,” he said. “I’d like to do that. I know what that business meant to him, and I’m hoping you want to keep it going as well. It’s your call, because once everything is settled and the will is probated, it’s yours. Joey had some ideas how he wanted it run
in the future. We can go over that when you’re ready. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to move into the loft for the time being and get a better handle on running it. I don’t know if it’s what I want to do forever, but for now, I’d like to do this.”

  Relief at Tom’s offer to take over the business, even for just awhile, didn’t come close to describing the sudden unspooling of the tension and guilt she’d carried around for months. The thought of managing Joey’s business had nagged at her like a pebble in her shoe—one she couldn’t figure out how to remove. It was as if with just a few words, he’d erased months of stress dedicated to her inaction on something too important to be ignored, but that she’d ignored nonetheless.

  “Of course it’s okay. I’m beyond relieved, actually. I don’t have a clue how to run a business.”

  “Not right now, but you will. I won’t do anything without checking with you. I’m just worried that with no one really on top of everything day to day, we would lose ground. Joey had good people in place. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Absolutely.” She squeezed his hand. “Now this is something we can celebrate on Friday.”

  He looked hopeful. “Cake?”

  “Don’t push it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Harold shook his head in disgust. “I can’t believe we’re sitting on a ship in the middle of the ocean, and you’re eating a steak.”

  “We’re not in the middle of the ocean,” Kate pointed out. “We’re anchored to the dock. Probably more than anchored, as I don’t believe this thing has been out of its slip in thirty years.”

  “Still. Smell that sea air. You should be eating seafood.”

  “So you’re saying unless I smell manure, I shouldn’t eat beef.”

  Jeff erupted in laughter, nearly spitting out his seafood scampi.

  “Funny,” Harold said. He cracked open the body of his lobster and scraped out something green and disgusting. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “I have to ask you a question,” she persisted. “You catch your own lobster any time you want. Why are you eating it now, when you could’ve had anything else?”

  “Because I like it.”

  She speared a piece of her rib eye on her fork and waved it at him. “And I like steak.”

  While Jeff turned his attention to Tom, Harold surreptitiously dipped a forkful of lobster meat into Jeff’s dish of melted butter and popped it into his mouth. “Suit yourself,” he conceded with a grin. “It’s your birthday.”

  “Yes. It is.”

  “Speaking of which.” Jeff dipped into his pocket. “We bought you a little present.”

  It was too much. She had wanted to let the day pass without any acknowledgment, let alone a celebration. Her eyes flickered from Harold to Jeff. “Just spending time with all of you is special enough. A present is too much.”

  Ignoring her, Jeff set a box on the table. Her mouth dropped.

  “Are you kidding?” She stared at the familiar blue box. “Tiffany’s?” She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  Harold pushed the box closer. “You didn’t even open it. How do you know it’s from Tiffany’s? Maybe we’re just recycling the box. You’re going to feel pretty damn foolish then, aren’t you?”

  She didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or annoyed, but she didn’t want to look ungrateful, so she picked up the box and gave the white satin ribbon a tug. Inside nestled a pair of sterling silver earrings shaped like starfish.

  “They’re beautiful, and I love them, but I can’t accept. This is too generous.”

  His harshness gone, Harold wrapped a calloused hand around hers. “We want you to have them. You’re a blessing in our lives, Kate, and we want you to know that.”

  She shook her head, unable to find her words.

  “Kate’s been a blessing to a lot of people for as long as I’ve known her,” Tom added.

  Her mouth twisted. She felt the familiar prickle behind her eyes.

  “Tell her, Jeff.” Harold’s voice returned to its usual gruffness.

  “The starfish is symbolic—that’s why we chose it,” Jeff said. “The starfish represents the Virgin Mother, who is said to ‘lovingly create safe travel over troubled water.’ She’s also an emblem of salvation during trying times.”

  The prickle turned into a burn. Her smile felt wobbly. “I’ve certainly had my share of troubled water and trying times.”

  “There’s also a legend that says starfish are the reflections of stars in the sky that inhabit the ocean floor,” Harold said. “And it’s the symbol of rebirth. Did you know a starfish can drop one of its arms to escape and trick a predator and then grow back the lost appendage? It’s even possible for the discarded arm to grow into another starfish.”

  “You people are too smart for me.” Maybe if she kept joking, she wouldn’t start crying.

  The card that went along with the gift featured a painting of the Portland Head Light at sunrise. Inside, Jeff had written “The Story of the Starfish—author unknown.”

  She read it aloud, trying hard to keep her voice from cracking. “Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work. One day, he was walking along the shore. As he looked down the beach, he saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself to think of someone who would dance to the day. So he began to walk faster to catch up.

  “As he got closer, he saw that it was a young man. The young man wasn’t dancing; instead, he was reaching down to the shore, picking up something and very gently throwing it into the ocean.

  “As he got closer he called out, ‘Good morning! What are you doing?’ The young man paused, looked up, and replied, ‘Throwing starfish back into the ocean.’

  “‘Why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?’

  “‘The sun is up, and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them in, they’ll die.’

  “‘But young man, don’t you realize that there are miles and miles of beach with starfish all along it. You can’t possibly make a difference!’

  “The young man listened politely. Then he bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it into the sea past the breaking waves and said, ‘It made a difference for that one.’

  “Happy birthday to someone who would not only rescue a starfish but has been known to save a lobster as well. Love, Harold and Jeff.”

  Although she laughed at the last part, she was so touched by their love and kindness, she could no longer hold back the tears. Even Tom seemed about to get emotional. He started to speak, but his phone began to vibrate.

  “Excuse me a second.” Tom walked to the rail that overlooked the marina and the multimillion-dollar yachts docked alongside the floating restaurant. He fired off a text. He watched his phone, and after a moment, he shot off another. Then he tucked the phone back into his pocket as he returned to his seat.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Fine.” He reached under the table to give her hand a squeeze.

  The message had been from Billy; she knew it.

  Tom smiled. “So, as I started to say—”

  Two waiters appeared, carrying a monumental confection covered with toasted coconut.

  She gaped. “I said no cake.”

  “It’s dessert,” Tom pointed out, “and no one is singing. But just in case, Harold, if she gets up and makes for the railing, grab her.”

  Tom gave her an odd look and mouthed “Sorry.”

  The cake was huge; much too big for just the four of them. She scooped a fingerful of icing and popped it into her mouth. She closed her eyes and savored the sweetness of the coconut as it dissolved on her tongue. What the hell? She pinched off another dab of icing. It had been more than a few years, but if she was right, this was the cake to end all cakes. She was practically giddy.

  “Is this from The Peninsula Grill? How did you know? This is my favorite!” She threw her arms around To
m’s neck. “I want to kill you and kiss you at the same time.”

  He didn’t answer, just bobbed his head and handed her a knife.

  She couldn’t stop grinning. “Let’s cut this sucker.”

  She pointed the knife in Harold’s direction. “You think lobster is good? Wait until you get a taste of this.”

  * * *

  Kate went to bed not long after they returned from the restaurant. It had been a good birthday, all things considered, but she was feeling emotional and wrung out. She was still awake an hour later, staring at the dark ceiling, Charlie curled at her feet.

  She slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the hall. A sliver of light stretched under the door of the master bedroom. She tapped lightly.

  “Come in.”

  Tom set down his book and adjusted his glasses. “I was expecting you.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed, tugged her oversized T-shirt down over her thighs and looked into his calm, honey-colored eyes. “The cake wasn’t from you, was it?”

  “No.”

  “So he knows where I am?”

  He shook his head adamantly. “Billy paid for the cake, and I made the arrangements for it to be sent with the understanding that it was private information. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “Was that him texting?”

  “At dinner? Yes. Although I received several texts today.”

  Several. Rhiannon and Devin. Maybe her son-in-law, Doug. How could she not feel guilty?

  “I’m surprised they don’t all hate me.”

  “No one hates you.”

  She shrugged. Maybe. Maybe not.

  “What did Billy say?”

  “Do you want to see?”

  “I don’t know.” The tempo of her heart quickened. She did. But she was also afraid it would open a door she might not be able to close.

  “It’s up to you. I can tell you, or you can see for yourself.”

  By cutting off all communication with her family, she had been able to focus solely on herself. It had been selfish, but she believed it was what she’d needed. Was she ready to let them in, even just a fraction of an inch?

  Baby steps. She pressed her lips together and opened her hand.