by Cimms, Karen
Old habits died hard.
She frowned at her reflection. She might not look like herself, but she looked better than she had a few minutes ago.
She pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and headed for the kitchen in search of aspirin and caffeine. The door to the guest room was open and again, the bed was made. She could count on one hand the number of times Billy had made the bed in the past, and both times had entailed her giving birth.
The kitchen was empty, but a note taped to the coffeemaker instructed her to “press the button.” Her largest mug sat nearby along with a spoon, a glass of orange juice, and, thankfully, a bottle of aspirin. As the rich, dark liquid filled the carafe, she inhaled deeply, trying to jump-start her caffeine fix. She tapped out three aspirin, tossed them back, and drained the glass of orange juice.
From where she stood, she could see Billy outside moving through a series of martial arts forms again with her broom handle. Charlie, who had mellowed considerably since Billy’s arrival, napped under a maple in the corner of the yard.
Kate filled her mug to the brim, slipped on a pair of her darkest sunglasses, and stepped outside. She wasn’t any closer to knowing what to do about Billy than she’d been the day before. And watching him shirtless, with his muscles rippling and glistening, wasn’t helping. The only thing she knew for sure was that spending the day alone in the house with him was likely to result in a repeat of last night’s behavior. She should’ve just stayed in bed.
Yeah, right.
For months, she’d pushed almost all thoughts of sex from her mind, and other than her dreams, she’d been successful. Now with Billy here, looking and smelling so good, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was forty-three! It shouldn’t even be about the sex anymore. Right?
Ha!
What she needed was an appointment with Liz. She’d left her a message on her way to Portland Saturday, but hadn’t heard back. Kate knew she needed to talk to Billy, but was she ready? She wanted to know about Christa, yet she didn’t. Having Liz as a buffer or a mediator, or whatever, might make it easier, if that were even possible.
All this thinking was making her head hurt.
She called softly for Charlie. He lifted his head, but other than wagging his tail once or twice, he remained where he was, close to his master. Traitor.
Billy continued his workout, moving fluidly through pose after pose. He had always been long and lean, and until the last year they’d been together, he had been in great shape. But in that final year, much of it spent on the road, he’d grown thin. Through the benefit of time and distance she accepted that he was an alcoholic and if not a full-blown drug addict, he’d been dangerously close. But the man she watched barefoot in the damp grass moved like a trained athlete. This was not the man she’d left ten months ago, not physically, at least. This Billy was strong and healthy. He said he had been trying, and on the outside, he looked to be succeeding.
When he finished the last series of movements, he bowed deeply, then picked up a towel he’d left lying in the grass. He mopped his face and chest, picked up her broom handle, and whistled for Charlie, who came bounding after him.
“Morning,” he said, a sly smile on his face. “How are we feeling?”
The sun had moved toward the center of the sky. Kate shielded her eyes. The glare was painful despite the dark glasses.
“I don’t know how we’re feeling, but I feel like shit.”
“Did you take some aspirin?” He gripped the towel draped around his neck, causing the veins to stand out along his forearms. Between that and his muscled chest and abdomen, she was almost a goner. Good thing she was nearly incapacitated. “I did. It didn’t help.”
“How about some breakfast?”
She stood and brushed off the back of her jeans. “Sure. What would you like?”
He dipped his head and laughed. “I meant, what would you like me to make you?”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. What do you want? Eggs, pancakes, French toast, oatmeal?”
“Oatmeal?” He had to be kidding.
“It’s good for you, you know.”
“I do know. I always told you that, but you hate it.”
“So do you.”
“True.” If he was offering to cook, she was taking him up on it. “Out of respect for my hangover, how about some scrambled eggs? The protein might help.”
He took her empty mug.
“Scrambled eggs it is. Let me grab a quick shower, and then I’ll make us some breakfast. I’ll be right back.”
He returned a minute later with a large glass of ice water. “Drink this. It’ll help your hangover.”
She squinted up at him. Even with the dark glasses, it still felt as if the sun might cause her head to explode. “Coffee.”
“You’re dehydrated. Drink a few glasses of water. It’ll help, trust me.”
Too queasy to argue, she took a sip of the water. By the time she finished, Billy was done with his shower.
“Feeling any better?” He had changed into a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. His hair was wet, and he smelled of lemongrass. He must have taken one of the bars from the dish in the hall bath.
She held her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.
“Good. Go sit, and I’ll make you some eggs and toast.”
He took the glass, filled it again, and handed it to her.
“Coffee.”
“Water. If you can get another one in after this, you’ll feel much better. I promise.”
What did he think she was, a camel? She sat at the dining room table, grumbling and sipping her water. She was still wearing her sunglasses—not that she needed them in the house, but it kept her from having to make eye contact—and watched as he busied himself in the kitchen. When the toast popped, he spread it with a little honey, plated it with her eggs, and set it in front of her. Then he poured her more coffee. He returned a second later with a bowl of oatmeal with a dollop of honey in the center.
“Who are you?” she asked as he took a big gulp of orange juice.
“I’m still me.” The grin made her insides turn to goo. “Only new and improved.”
She almost had to sit on her hands to keep from reaching out to touch the dimple on his cheek.
“Up before noon, making breakfast, eating healthy, exercising. Not to mention, turning down a sure thing.” She tried to keep the edge from her voice but failed.
“I told you, I’ve changed. I don’t ever want to look at you again as a sure thing. When you come to me—” He dropped his gaze. “If you come to me, it has to be for the right reasons.”
He touched a finger to her wrist and drew it back and forth. “We need to talk, Katie, and try to figure out where we are and where we’re going. I know what I want. I need to know what you want.”
It would be so easy to give in right then, but what if she could never truly forgive him? What kind of marriage was that? But at that moment, if her head hadn’t been threatening to roll off onto the floor and her stomach hadn’t been lurching as if she were out on a storm-tossed sea, she’d still have tried to drag him off to bed. Hell, she’d do it right on the dining room table.
His thumb massaged a small circle on her forearm. “What are you thinking?”
A slow burn crept up her neck. “Umm . . .” She pushed her eggs around her plate, then scooped some onto her fork and shoveled them into her mouth.
“These are good,” she mumbled, her mouth full. “Thank you.”
Clearly disappointed with her response, he went back to his oatmeal.
Not knowing what to say, she suggested an outing. What she really wanted, other than throw-me-down-tear-off-my-clothes-and-ravage-me sex, was to go back to bed and bury her head under her pillow for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which was getting her hormones under control.
“How about we play tourist this afternoon?” She wasn’t good at hiding her emotions, and Billy knew that.
He gave her a tight sm
ile. “You up for that?”
Definitely not. “Sure.”
He lifted a spoonful of oatmeal to his mouth. “Sounds great.”
Chapter Forty-One
Kate was feeling much better after breakfast and four glasses of water, and she was eager to push aside anything of consequence in order to show Billy some of the places she loved. And her adopted state was in full cooperation, serving up warm sunshine, azure skies, and ocean views that went on for miles. The two picturesque lighthouses made their last stop just perfect. Or as perfect as it could be for someone trying to avoid a difficult conversation.
“Wow,” Billy said as they stepped onto the small, crescent-shaped beach near Two Lights.
“Just wait. C’mon.”
He reached out to hand her the keys, but she shook her head.
“Keep them,” she said. “If you don’t mind, you can drive.”
He had tried to convince her to ride the Harley—he’d even bought an extra helmet for her—but she’d refused. Instead, she had handed him the keys to the Saab and asked him to drive.
Her reflection looked back at her from his mirrored aviator sunglasses. What did he see when he looked at her? She was used to the shorter hair; he’d barely had a day, yet he seemed to have taken it in stride. Rhiannon must have told him how she’d looked when she’d found her. He was probably glad she wasn’t still practically bald.
She crammed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, and Billy did the same as they walked side by side up the short ridge. They continued past The Lobster Shack and out onto the rocky coastline. The open ocean stretched out before them.
“Let’s walk out on the ledge.” She pointed to a narrow finger of metamorphic rock.
Billy followed as she navigated along a path lined with stunted clusters of beach roses groaning under the weight of fat, red rosehips. Random deep-pink blossoms greeted them, vestiges of the unusually mild autumn. At the end of the path, she waited as Billy picked his way among the jagged rocks. The sun glinted off the strands of hair that had blown loose from his ponytail.
“So now you’re a mountain goat?” he asked when he caught up with her.
“Joey and I used to climb up here and out to the edge of the point.” She touched his arm and pointed to the small expanse of sand and rock below them. “The beach down there, that’s where we would search for sea glass. It’s best when the tide’s out. We found tons of stuff—shells, driftwood, I even started hauling broken lobster buoys off the beach, but they never made it home with us. My mother would toss them before we left, and we wouldn’t find out until we were back in Belleville. That’s why I started stashing my sea glass in my suitcase. I amassed quite a collection over the years.”
She swallowed the twinge of sadness that settled over her whenever she thought of Joey and focused on a sailboat cutting around the point and heading for Casco Bay. Billy didn’t speak. He just stood beside her, staring out to sea.
“You hungry? Thirsty?” he asked after several minutes. “You should probably drink more water.”
“Maybe thirsty. If you get something, I’ll just share. If that’s okay.”
He purchased a bottle of water and followed her out to the carved ledge.
She wandered to a large, flat rock and sat. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
The sky was a deep, clear blue, unmarred save for a few wispy mares’ tails.
Billy stretched out on a rock beside her and leaned back. Neither of them spoke. She couldn’t help stealing furtive glances at him. She wanted to touch him, to trace the black swirl of the tribal tattoo on his forearm, to feel the silky softness of his hair on her fingers, but she didn’t dare.
“I still can’t believe you’re here,” she said when she could trust herself to speak.
It was impossible to see past his sunglasses to tell what was in his eyes. He lifted her hand and folded it in his. Seconds earlier, she’d ached to touch him, but her heart and brain were still at odds, and until she came to terms with one or the other, holding hands was off limits. She wriggled free and began chattering about the geologic history of the rocks they were sitting on. Then she told him that Joan Crawford or Bette Davis, she couldn’t remember which, had once lived in the house where the second of two lighthouses had been, and did he know one of their husbands, Joan or Bette, she still couldn’t remember which, had sat on the board of Pepsi? Or maybe it was Coca-Cola.
Her heart thumped wildly with the nearness of him. It was as if she were eighteen again, only this time, she had seen the future. If she’d known then what she knew now, would she have walked back to her dorm through the snowstorm the morning after they’d met, or would she have fallen just as deeply in love?
The answer was immediate. She would have chosen love. It was a no-brainer. Too bad knowing that still didn’t help her figure out what she was doing now.
A light breeze blew off the water, but the air was warm. Billy took off his jacket, balled it up, and lay back, using it as a pillow. He pushed his glasses up over his head and closed his eyes. Despite years of drug and alcohol abuse, he was still incredibly handsome: strong, chiseled jaw, straight nose, full lips. To this day, she couldn’t think of anyone who came close to Billy in looks, other than Devin, of course. Although Devin had her dark hair, he was as heartbreakingly handsome as his father. And while Billy had certainly broken her heart and most certainly scores of others, her son would never knowingly hurt anyone.
She missed her children and grandchildren. Their absence had begun to weigh heavily now that Billy’s arrival had stripped away her ability to ignore her past life.
She exhaled loudly, trying to lift some of the weight centered on her chest.
Billy squinted up at her. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I was just thinking.”
“Here.” He stretched his arm out, offering it up as a cushion for her head. “Lie back. The sun feels good.”
“Um, I like watching the waves.” It was tempting to lie beside him, to tuck her body against his. This was proving far too difficult.
He folded his hands across his stomach and closed his eyes.
She continued to study his face. “Billy?”
“Hmmm?” He didn’t open his eyes this time.
“Was it bad? Jail, I mean. Was it hard?”
He let go a low chuckle. “You mean like hard time? Chain gang stuff?”
She poked him in the ribs. “No. Was it hard going to jail? You’ve been arrested before, but you never had to stay more than a few hours.”
Squinting against the bright sunshine, he lifted up to his elbows. “Was it hard? Yeah. It was also humiliating, but it was a lot easier than being home without you.”
He sat up, gently lifted her glasses from her face, and cupped his hand to her cheek so she couldn’t turn away.
“It was easier to be locked up, knowing I wouldn’t be able to see you anyway, than it was to be home every day in a house that echoed so loudly with your absence it was almost unbearable. I flew home as soon as Rhiannon called and told me you were gone. After I’d gone to see Tom and he wouldn’t tell me where you were, I had Doug find me a rehab facility. They couldn’t take me for a few days. If C.J., hadn’t been so cool about it—if my own damn manager hadn’t come to stay with me until then—who knows what I might’ve done? I thought I was going to lose my mind.”
She chewed hard on the pad of her thumb, uncomfortable with the guilt of causing him so much pain. “I should’ve been there for you.”
He smiled, but it was a sad smile. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Why? Would you have baked me a cake with a file in it?”
A fat tear slipped down her cheek. He caught it on the edge of his thumb and brushed it away. “No, babe. I was in desperate need of a wake-up call, and I finally got one. I needed to go to jail and to rehab. I needed to fix myself so that I could finally be worthy of you.”
He gently guided her so that she faced him straight on and took both of her hands in his. “When I look int
o your eyes and see myself reflected there, I want to be the man you fell in love with. The man you need me to be. The man you deserve.”
Every word pierced her heart like arrows, as if he were trying to reinsert himself there. What he didn’t understand was that he already lived there. He would always live there, whether she wanted him there or not.
“The past year and a half has been the worst time of my life,” she said. “But I’ve dealt with almost all of it: Joey’s death, Eileen’s death, the shooting, this fucked-up world we live in. I’ve even come to grips with my shitty childhood. I’ve processed it all—except you.” A painful little cry slipped past her lips. “I don’t know how to process you or what you’ve done. I don’t know if I can.”
“I don’t want to be dealt with or processed, Katie.” Agitation fueled his voice. “I want to be forgiven, and I want you to love me again.”
She shook her head. “It’s never been about love, Billy, I told you that. In spite of everything, I’ve never stopped loving you. I just don’t know if I can forgive you. Or trust you.”
“If you love me, don’t you owe me a chance?”
“Owe you? Didn’t you owe me something? Didn’t you owe me your honesty and fidelity?”
“I did. I still do. I can’t change what happened. It was one time, and in the scheme of things, it was almost insignificant, but—”
“No, Billy. It was never insignificant.”
“You know what I mean. No one died.”
“Maybe something died.”
He touched his forehead to hers. “Can we try to fix this, Katie? Please?”
Her heart hurt. She wanted to fix what they’d had. She just wasn’t sure it was possible. “I don’t know.”
When she tried to pull away, he let her. She drew her knees up and clasped her arms around them, curling in on herself. The waves crashed against the rocks below, and for a while, that and the cry of sea gulls hovering nearby were all she heard.
“I hope this doesn’t come out wrong, but please just listen,” Billy said. He straightened his legs out before him. “Over the past year, I’ve learned a lot about myself. I overdosed on heroin. I went to jail. And I hurt and lost the person I love most in the world. I’ve come face to face with my demons, but I confronted them and I won. I am a better person. I’ve been to rehab, and I go to AA. I’ve been sober for ten months. I’m working on being a real father. I’ve made my peace with everyone, Katie, everyone except you. Not a night goes by that I don’t look out at the sky, knowing the same stars are shining down on you wherever you are, and ask your forgiveness.”