Nor had Julia. Grief, total and overwhelming, flooded through her. "Charles, how long does it take to accept the finality of death? I'm still in denial. I half expect Sam to come bounding in here, glowing with energy and trailing demolition dust."
"I wish I had an answer. Even after two years, sometimes it's a shock to walk into the kitchen and not find Barbara throwing together one of her instant gourmet meals." Charles regarded her with compassion. "One thing I do know, Julia. It will get worse before it gets better. But in time--it will get better."
She buried her face in her hands. "God damn Sam Corsi. God damn him to hell."
∗ ∗ ∗
The wipers slid intermittently across Donovan's windshield as he drove north on Charles Street. Wet snow had iced the pavement and chased most Baltimoreans inside. Controlling the vehicle took concentration even with four-wheel drive, but it wasn't enough to banish thoughts of Sam's insane will. The idea of living with Kate, seeing her every day, was paralyzing. Terrifying.
Horribly tempting.
It had been snowing like this the night they'd decided to get married. Donovan hadn't thought marriage was possible when they were both still in college. Then, over pizza after a movie date, Kate produced a business-like sheet of calculations. She'd totaled up his scholarships at Loyola College, the income she got from a small trust fund, estimated wages from summer jobs, then balanced it against projected expenses to prove they could afford to marry.
He hadn't liked the idea of relying partially on her money, but was ready to accept anything that meant they could be together. Privately, he recognized a profound desire to secure her as his own before she woke up and realized she could do better elsewhere.
On the way back to the Corsi house, as the knowledge she was his forever sank in, he'd spun his uncle's car in circles in the slippery snow of empty intersections, whooping like a maniac. Kate had alternated between laughter and alarm, afraid that the police would arrest them, or a huge and unforgiving truck would flatten them into the pavement.
But he'd gotten her home safely. Outside the front door, they kissed so long they'd both had snowflakes caught in their lashes like stars when they went inside to announce their engagement.
Though the Corsis liked their daughter's boyfriend, they'd been startled and none too pleased since Kate and Donovan were so young. But Kate had produced her calculations, adding that her parents were in no position to protest when they had also married young and with blinding swiftness. In the end, the Corsis had given their consent and arranged a magnificent wedding, as if they'd never had any private doubts.
Had Sam and Julia felt the same desperate hunger to be together? Probably. Donovan had ached to be with Kate, and not only for the sex, phenomenal though it was.
The sex... His whole body tightened as he remembered the first time. He tried to push the thought away, but couldn't. Memories that had been dammed up for almost a decade raged through him like a spring flood.
Mind churning, he turned left from onto Bellona Avenue, almost skidding off the narrow road. He swore and pulled onto the shoulder, knowing he wasn't fit to drive until he had himself under control again. But control was not easily come by as he stared into the blowing snow, remembering the night Kate had swept into his life.
Introducing her to his aunt and uncle had been a deliberate attempt to underline how different their worlds were. Instead, the visit made things worse because she'd been as much at home in a Hampden rowhouse as she'd been at the cotillion. Finding out that she was half-Italian, just like him, made her seem more attainable.
His original intentions had been honorable; under-dressed girls should not walk or hitchhike through city streets on December nights. But after they got into Uncle Frankie's car, she looked up at him with those huge dark eyes and he couldn't stop himself from kissing her. The first kiss was followed by more. Instead of withdrawing from his increasingly intimate caresses, she had responded with soft, rapturous sighs, intoxicating him with her utter openness.
Though he burned to make love to her, he managed to find the willpower to pull away before reaching the point of no return. That moment of retreat was engraved vividly in his brain. Snow-covered car windows steamed into a seductive privacy. Pale light filtering through the translucent snow to burnish her fair hair and the elegant curves of cheek and throat. The floral delicacy of her perfume mingling with the richer scents of passion and Cousin Giuseppe's wine.
He got as far as reaching for the key in the ignition. Then Kate whispered, "Don't stop," and he was doomed. Her words were like gasoline on flame. He was crazy with wanting her and she wanted him too, so why not? Maybe the rich were different from the kind of girls he'd dated. Or maybe he was dreaming all this and any minute the alarm would jerk him awake and he'd have to get up for his eight o'clock math class.
While he was debating, she slid across the front seat and nuzzled his throat, her breath warm and unbearably arousing. "What's your first name?"
If this was a dream, he didn't ever want to wake. "Patrick. I've never liked it, so I go by my last name."
"Patrick. A pity you don't like that. I do."
"I like the way you say it." The name had never sounded better than now, with the sexiest girl he'd ever met purring the syllables into his ear.
Then her hand crept hesitantly down his body, and rational thought ended. Instinct exploded into hungry kisses, hammering blood, frantic hands stroking and probing and pushing away inconvenient clothing.
Such intensity could not last long. She was incredibly responsive, and within seconds of his first intimate touches she dissolved into convulsive shudders, clinging to him as if he were her one hope of heaven. Then it was his turn. Luckily he had a condom in his wallet, and even, barely, the sense to use it.
She was slim and lithe beneath him, so lovely, so giving, that he couldn't quite believe she was real. Too late he realized that she was a virgin. She gasped with pain when he entered her, but he was too far gone into mind-searing pleasure to retreat.
Within moments it was over, leaving him panting and shaken, with the horrible conviction that she had been playing him for a fool. His raw, helpless distress swiftly transformed into anger. He released her and pushed away. "Was giving your cherry to a parking valet a way of getting back at your father? You should have warned me. It would have been easier for you."
A lesser female might have burst into tears at his harshness. Not Kate. "This had nothing to do with my father," she said huskily. Her hands roamed over his chest and arms, as if she could not get enough of him. "It just seemed that...that tonight was the right night, and you were the right man. Was I wrong?"
He'd thought his childhood had left him tough and unsusceptible, but her sweet honesty cracked through all his defenses, and he tumbled headfirst into love. Here is my heart, carissima. And my life, my body, my soul, if you want them.
His emotions were so raw, so powerful, so terrifying, that all he could manage was to catch one of her wandering hands and press it to his cheek. "I think you probably were wrong, Kate." He turned his head and pressed his lips into the center of her palm. "You deserve champagne and satin sheets and rose petals, not me and an old Chrysler."
She laughed, a joyous sound that drew him into a place he'd never been. For the first time in years--maybe ever--it occurred to him that happiness might be possible.
"I'm not sorry," she murmured, her eyes like dark stars. "I hope you aren't."
He hadn't been. Not then, not even now, despite all of the pain and guilt that love had brought them both.
Chapter 7
Donovan returned to the present gripping the steering wheel so tightly it was in danger of bending. No wonder he'd kept those memories securely bottled up for so long. Releasing them was almost as disorienting as the original experience had been.
The brutal truth was that he'd stolen Kate's life. He was the one who'd ended up with the exciting job in the family business, the warm, supportive relationship with her parents. N
ot that he'd deliberately tried to cut Kate out. In fact, he'd resigned from PDI the morning after she left him, sure it would be impossible to keep working there.
He'd been sitting in his kitchen grimly lowering the level of a bottle of Irish whiskey when Sam marched into the house. After pouring the whiskey down the sink, he'd asked his son-in-law to come back to PDI.
Sam had looked like hell--a man torn apart by irreconcilable forces. He had too much pride to beg Donovan to change his mind, but it had been clear that he desperately needed to salvage at least one relationship from the family disaster.
Though Donovan had tried to confess, Sam hadn't wanted to hear it. Apparently his father-in-law assumed that his split with Kate was one of the repercussions of the blow-up that had broken the Corsi family in half. Kate had sided with Tom, while Donovan, as always, stood with Sam.
The truth was far more complicated than Sam's guess, but because Donovan and Sam needed each other so much, the next morning he'd been back at work at PDI, doing his best to bury his misery in sixteen hour days. Stoically he gave Kate the uncontested divorce she requested.
But it was no accident that he'd never sought an annulment from the Church. He hadn't wanted one, because in the Catholic corner of his heart she was still his wife. As long as that was true, he would never take another. It was the real reason his dating relationships had stayed casual. Though he'd been plenty busy over the last ten years, he could have found time for a courtship if he'd wanted one. But he hadn't.
It was Kate he had wanted. Only Kate.
Yes, the sex had been intoxicating, but it was Kate's essence that had captivated him. Though she could play the role of cool aristocratic blonde to perfection, most of the time her disposition was as sunny as her glossy blonde hair. Just being near her had made him happy. If they were working in different parts of the house, he regularly sought her out for a hug to reassure himself that she was real, not the enchanting subject of a dream.
Not only had she been a miracle in herself, she had opened so many doors for him. Effortlessly relaxed with all kinds of people, she had helped him become equally at ease. With her, he had found a real home. Not that his relatives hadn't been kind. His assorted aunts and uncles would be hurt to know that he'd never felt that he really belonged with any of them. He hadn't belonged anywhere, until Kate.
It was his own damned fault that their marriage had ended. He knew it, Kate knew it, though they'd both stonewalled everyone about their break-up. After Sam refused to hear his confession, it had been impossible to tell anyone else. As for Kate, she'd always been very private about the things closest to her heart. Her friends and family knew better than to pry about a subject she had posted as off-limits.
Because he and Kate had kept the secrets of their marriage, Sam had brazenly decided to try to throw them together again. It felt like a betrayal of the years of trust and affection between Donovan and his former father-in-law.
Or was it? As he stared into the blowing flakes, he realized that Sam had trusted Donovan with his daughter once, and he'd wanted to again. The will wasn't an act of betrayal, but of deep faith. A charge laid by a dead man onto the living.
Though Donovan had only seen Kate for an hour today, it was clear how much she had changed from the girl he'd fallen in love with. Much of her openness was gone, and in his heart, he was sure the blame for that rested squarely him.
Yet he would always care for her deeply. Maybe not in the same way as when they were young, but he'd walk-through fire for her. He owed her more than he could ever repay, and Sam's will was offering a chance to try to make amends. If Donovan was wise enough, maybe he could undo some of the damage he'd caused.
He would have to act with great patience and care, or she'd be back in San Francisco like a rocket. He must win her trust. Be her friend again, as they had once before been each other's best friend.
Because even more than he wanted her for himself, he wanted what was best for her. And the best would never be him.
After he sorted things out, he pulled the Jeep back onto the road and headed for home. Sam's funeral and meeting Kate had already made this one of bitch of day, and the situation was sure to get worse. But now, at least, he had something to work for.
Expiation of his sins.
∗ ∗ ∗
Kate's bedroom had changed little in the years since she'd left, and she winced every time she entered. Not that her mother had kept the place as a shrine--Julia was far too sensible for that.
But the bedroom still held a lot of Kate, because she'd consciously decided to travel light when she moved into her married life with Donovan. They had needed to start together as equals. Since he had few personal possessions beyond clothes and books, she hadn't wanted to fill their new home with objects from her parents' house.
So her old bookcase still held beloved children's books that Kate had vaguely assumed she would retrieve when she had her first child. Bright Scandinavian rya rugs she'd chosen under her mother's guidance warmed the floor, and the prairie star quilt on the bed had been made by the two of them during Kate's twelfth summer.
A lot of conversation and family stories were stitched into that quilt. It had been the last summer of her childhood. By the next year she was a teenager with other interests. No doubt Julia had seen that coming, which was why she'd suggested the quilt project.
Sleeping in her old room took Kate back to a simpler time, when she'd believed in happy endings. Feeling ancient and cynical, she turned on the electric blanket, curled up in the armchair, and called San Francisco again for another dose of reality.
Her partner picked up immediately. "Chen and Corsi. May I help you?"
"You're working late." Kate leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "Speak to me of mundane things, Liz. Tell me how the Tanaka project is coming, and what new outrage his brother-in-law the plumber has perpetrated. Feed me the trivia of normal life."
"Things are that bad?"
"Not really. I'm only tired."
It was impossible to fool Liz. "Sounds like you need a friend. Want me to fly to Maryland tomorrow? The clients can wait for a few days."
"You get a gold star in heaven for the offer, but that's not necessary. It's just that today has been really...draining."
"Of course it was," Liz said gravely. "When my mother died, I..." She cut off the sentence. "You asked for distraction, not reminiscences. A pity you weren't here today. Jenny Gordon called this morning. She was just downsized from her job in Chicago and decided it was time to come home. So I took her out to lunch and we caught up on the gossip."
Jenny had been a good friend of both Kate and Liz when they were all studying architecture at Berkeley. In fact, they had daydreamed about working together someday, but Jenny had followed a boyfriend to the Midwest. He hadn't turned out to be any better a long-term prospect than her job.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there, but at least we'll be seeing her more often," Kate replied. "Considering how Jenny hated Chicago winters, she must be ecstatic to be back in California. Does she have a job?"
"Not yet. You know how hard it is to find architectural work, and Jenny doesn't want another giant firm. Somewhere between the nachos and dessert, I had the genius idea of asking her to help here for a few days. It will take the pressure off while you're away, and get Jenny out of her parents' house. She's finding that a strain."
"If Jenny likes, she can house-sit at my place until I come back," Kate suggested. "It will save Tom having to stop by every day to feed Ginger Bear."
"I'm sure she'll be ecstatic to take on house-sitting and cat care. I'll give her a key to your place tomorrow." There was a rustling of papers. "Will you be back at the beginning of the week?"
Kate didn't have the stamina to go through the story of Sam's will again. "I might be here longer than expected. I'll let you know when I'm sure."
"Stay as long as you need to. I miss you, but with Jenny's help, I can hold out indefinitely." More rustling paper. "Where did I put my list of q
uestions? Ah, here. The bathroom tile for the Jackson job. Do you want me to go ahead and place the order, or wait to see if they change their minds again?"
"Better wait. The Jacksons always change their minds at least three times, and it's only been twice so far."
Liz went to the next item on her list. Kate found the conversation immensely relaxing. This was reality--her business, her friends, her home, her cat.
"If you need me in person or to listen and make soothing noises, I'm here," Liz said when she finished with business. "Phone. Fax. E-mail. Any time of the day or night. And remember that it's okay to cry."
"Thanks for...for everything, Liz." Kate said good-bye and hung up, feeling a prickling at the back of her neck. The sudden appearance of an old and trusted friend--one who had the right skills and needed a job and place to live--was so timely that it seemed like fate.
Though the rational side of her brain scoffed at the idea of divine intervention, on a deeper level she more than half believed that there were underlying patterns to life. When a door opened with such dramatic timing, a wise woman had to consider whether she was supposed to go through it.
Or to use a good California term, "Hey, ho, go with the flow." The universe had sent her this kind of message once or twice before, and she'd seen similar patterns in the lives of friends.
God help her, did this mean she was supposed to go along with Sam's will? Or was fatigue making her see omens in what was mere coincidence?
Later. She'd think about all this later.
When she took off her jacket, crinkling paper reminded her of the letter from her father she'd stuffed into the pocket. She pulled out the envelope, wincing at the sight of her name scrawled in Sam's impatient handwriting. She was too tired to face a message from him tonight.
But curiosity won over fatigue. She ripped open the PDI envelope, then perched nervously on the edge of the bed and scanned the lines of the last message she would ever receive from her father.
The Burning Point Page 6