Remember the Time

by Annette Reynolds

  Kate brought the washcloth to her face and cried for the death of her marriage, for the loss of all those years that should have been sweet. And then she cried out of fear. Afraid she’d never be able to respond to Mike’s love the way she wanted.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-NINE

  She’d always read it in mystery novels, but never really believed it until just now. Something woke her out of a deep sleep. Her eyes simply opened, as if she’d only just closed them moments before.

  Kate lay very still on the couch and listened. Homer softly snored in his cedar bed. The TV screen emitted a blue glow, but no sound thanks to the mute button. As her eyes adjusted to the unnatural light, she could see nothing was unusual in the den.

  Sleep started to overtake her again when she heard it: a faint clicking noise. Kate frowned and sat up. She tried to place the familiar sound, but it had stopped. She sat motionless, waiting. And just as she thought she’d imagined it, there it was once more.

  Kate was off the couch and at the door in a second. She peered into the hallway. A faint light from the kitchen made her heart pound, and she grabbed the first weapon she came across. Hugging the wall and the heavy crystal vase, she made her way down the hall, and when the clicking began again, she realized it was the electric starter on her gas stove.

  Kate’s mouth fell open in disbelief when she reached the kitchen doorway.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The spoon Matt had been stirring a cup of cocoa with flew across the room and landed in the sink with a tinny clatter as he spun around.

  Kate advanced into the kitchen, slammed the crystal vase onto the table, and shouted, “You scared the shit out of me!” At that point Homer started barking, and she turned on the hapless dog and screamed, “Shut up! Where were you when I needed you, you stupid animal?”

  “Kate, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—What are you doing?”

  “Calling the police,” she replied as she began dialing.

  Matt was in front of her in three quick strides, and he yanked the receiver out of her hand. “Don’t do it. Please.”

  “You break into my home, I call the cops.”

  “Kate, be reasonable. I need to talk to you.” Her intractable face told him he’d better make it good. “Look, would I do this if it wasn’t really important?”

  “Matt, you’re driving me crazy,” Kate said, and she sank into a chair. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to answer a question for me.”

  “One question?”

  “Yeah. And if the answer doesn’t convince you to listen to everything else I need to say, then I’ll leave.”

  “Fine.” Kate crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

  Matt sat across from her, and said, “Remember those baby pictures I showed you?” She sighed and nodded. “Remember what you said when I asked who would’ve sent them to Paul?”

  “Yes, Matt,” she replied wearily. “I said Mike sent them.”

  “Because?”

  “Because … Paul was Mike’s best friend. He’d want him to see photos of you.”

  “That’s what my mom said when I asked her.”

  An odd sense of relief flooded through Kate, and she angrily asked, “Then why are you bothering me with this?”

  “There’s something I still don’t get,” Matt said, afraid to ask the question. Knowing he had to. “Who told you the photos are of Paul?”

  “He did.” And as Kate said the words, she paled.

  “He lied to you,” Matt said quietly. “And my mom lied to me, Kate. What docs that mean?”

  Hundreds of thoughts crowded into her head, all vying for attention. And then Matt voiced one of them.

  “What if Paul’s my father, Kate.”

  “No …” She quickly stood and turned away from him. But he was in front of her, and took her arm, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Could I be Paul Armstrong’s son?”

  “NO!” She put her hands over her ears, trying to shut out his voice, but all that did was let the words echo through her brain. And then someone mercifully pulled the shades down, and her vision went from gray to black.

  Kate had to beg Matt to leave. He’d wanted to stay with her. He’d wanted to talk. She wanted someone to tell her it was all a bad dream. She wanted to scream at Paul until the pain she felt in her heart was transferred to some other, less vulnerable, organ. She needed Mike to hold her and tell her she’d live through this. And, oh Christ, she needed a drink.

  When she finally convinced Matt to go, Kate was crying. She felt as if she’d never be able to stop. The hours before dawn went by, and still Kate sat on the couch, tears stopping and starting like a drip system on a timer. She fell asleep and when she woke it was just becoming light outside. And when she remembered what the night had brought, she began sobbing again.

  Kate reached for the phone. Mike would know what to say. He’d know what to do. She wanted him to talk to her and hold her in his arms. She needed to hear him call her “Katie, darlin’ ” in his leprechaun voice. And then she remembered Mike’s words.

  It’s about me and Matt … I need to deal with that.

  God, how would he deal with this? Me and Paul’s son.

  “Can’t call him,” she whispered.

  By that afternoon Kate was past anger and well into denial. Dan Keller was Matt’s father. Of course he was. Sheryl had married Dan—when was it?—in the fall of 1974. October. She always remembered because they’d been married on her birthday. And Matt had been born in April of the next year.

  Dan had been there for Matt’s birth. Sheryl never tired of telling the talc of being in labor for thirty-eight hours. How could Paul be his father? It was a crazy idea and she couldn’t believe she’d let herself get caught up in it.

  But what about the photos, Kate?

  Well, there had to be a reasonable explanation. Maybe she was remembering it all wrong. Maybe Paul never told her they were of him. Possibly she was thinking of some other photos. She seemed to recall his mother sending some once. Those must be the ones she was thinking of. So Mike must’ve sent the photos of Matt to Paul. Just as she’d suspected all along. She’d have to ask him.

  Paul and Sheryl? It was unthinkable. Sheryl was already engaged to Dan. And Kate to Paul. It wasn’t only unthinkable. It was laughable. She and Sheryl hadn’t exactly been close back then, but they were friends now. And Matt was getting too wrapped up in the Paul Armstrong mystique.

  In the end, Kate chose to trust Paul one more time. And when Matt called and asked to meet with her again, she said yes. She’d set him straight.

  With Matt sitting across from her at the kitchen table, Kate patiently explained why it was impossible for Paul to be his father.

  “It’s not impossible, Kate.”

  “Look, Matt. I know every kid goes through the ‘maybe I’m adopted’ phase, but you’re wrong about this.”

  “What about my birthday?”

  “What about it?”

  “I was born eight months after my mom and dad were married.”

  “So you were a little early.”

  “I don’t look anything like my dad.”

  Kate was nodding. “That doesn’t mean anything. Look at your mother and Mike. They have completely different coloring. You happen to look like Sheryl.”

  The next words out of his mouth came hard. “I know you don’t want to believe this, Kate. But I think it’s very possible.” And then he told her about the interview.

  She listened with growing annoyance. When he finished, she said, “I’m going to tell you something that really isn’t any of your business, but I want to clear this up once and for all. I was a virgin when I married Paul. Back then I asked Mike if Paul had ever been with anyone else. And he said, ‘No, he’s never slept with anyone.’ Mike would never lie to me.”

  Matt couldn’t believe how naïve a thirty-eight-year-old woman could be, and his voice expr
essed that as he said, “Those were his exact words? ‘He’s never slept with anyone’? Well, I hate to tell you this, Kate, but I’ve had sex with a lot of girls I never slept with.”

  Kate’s tight-lipped response was, “No, you’re wrong. If you don’t believe me, then you need to talk to your mother.”

  “I’m planning on it. But I wanted to talk to you one more time. I thought you needed to know.” He pushed a plastic bag he’d brought in with him across the table. “Look at this, then call me. I won’t say anything to Mom until I hear from you.”

  Her hands began to shake and she placed them palm-down on the table to steady them. In a frightened voice, she said, “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to know.”

  “But I need to know, Kate.”

  “Why?” she whispered. “What difference could it possibly make now, after all these years?”

  In a voice much older than his years, he said, “Because, as overrated as it seems to be around here, I think I deserve to know the truth.” And then he left.

  Kate sat looking at the bag, afraid of what it contained. It lay on the table where he’d left it—a small white time bomb waiting to detonate.

  Minutes passed and then she carefully pulled it toward her and opened it. The label on the videotape confirmed what she’d already guessed. It was a baseball game, and for more reasons than one, she didn’t want to watch it. Kate hadn’t seen a game since Paul had died. Why should she start now?

  She held the box in trembling hands until morbid curiosity forced her to her feet and into the den. She slipped the tape into the VCR and touched the play button, and sat down to watch.

  Silent, unnoticed tears leaked from her eyes as she saw Matt playing ball in a style she’d always considered inimitable. Like father, like son. Isn’t that what they always said? Was a batting average in the genes? Was a swing inherited? Did he play second base because he worshiped Paul, or was it in his DNA?

  Kate hit the rewind button and watched the video for the third time, fast-forwarding’ only through the innings Matt wasn’t up to bat. The game had been aired by one of Savannah’s local stations and Dan Keller had taped it.

  The proud father, she thought grimly, and then this act of stunning betrayal hit her with tornadic force. Was God really that capricious that Paul would be given a son after all she’d been through?

  Sheryl’s son. Sheryl and Paul’s son. Paul’s son!

  “WHY?” she screamed, ripping the tape out of the machine and throwing it across the room. “Why did you do this to me?”

  Was she talking to God or Paul? Did it matter anymore?

  “What possible reason could you have for putting me through this?” she railed at the four walls. “This is too much! I can’t handle this …” Sinking to her knees, she pounded her fists against the coffee table. “Oh, God! I can’t take any more!”

  Her sobs became deeper. Her breathing became ragged as she fought for control.

  “It’s—too—much …”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY

  Matt had walked out of Kate’s house hoping she would call him back. He couldn’t wait much longer. The anger and hurt he felt had reached critical mass and was about to explode out of him.

  And then, just as he’d gotten to his car, he’d heard Mike’s voice calling. His uncle stood at the corner of his house.

  “Matt! I need to talk to you,” he’d shouted.

  But Matt hadn’t responded. Instead, he’d panicked. He was in the MG and driving away as Mike ran to the sidewalk. When he’d looked in the rearview mirror his uncle was in the middle of the street, staring at Matt’s retreat.

  Matt held open the refrigerator door and searched for the makings of a sandwich. His mother was with a late appointment which meant dinner wouldn’t be for another hour at least. Anticipating Kate’s call made him nervous and antsy. He’d stayed close to the house the rest of the afternoon. He’d wanted to be able to pick up the phone. Didn’t want the answering machine taking any messages from Kate.

  He needn’t have worried.

  The first inkling he had of something wrong was the sound of the front door opening, but not closing. Before he could put the jar of mayonnaise down on the counter, he heard something that made his blood freeze.

  Sheryl had just oiled up her hands and was passing them along Judy Stewart’s shoulders when Kate burst through the door. Her hair fell wildly around her tear-streaked face. Reddened eyes glowing with venom rooted Sheryl to the floor. Sheryl’s first thought was, She’s drunk. Over the edge.

  But then Kate’s hoarse voice pierced her. “I thought you were my friend. How could you do this to me?”

  Sheryl moved quickly, walking around the table. She tried to take Kate’s arm—to lead her out of the room—but Kate wrenched her arm away and screamed, “I know about Matt! I know about you and Paul!”

  The day Sheryl had dreaded—the day she prayed would never come—had arrived and she steeled herself. Voice low, as if soothing a hurt child, she said, “Kate? Come on with me. We can talk somewhere else.”

  Kate seemed to notice the woman lying on the massage table for the first time, and Sheryl took the opportunity to look over her shoulder at her shocked client. “Judy, I’m sorry. I have an emergency here. We’ll have to reschedule.” Then she turned back to Kate. “Please, Kate. Let’s go. Let me get you something.”

  Kate looked her square in the eyes and said, “I don’t want anything from you again.”

  Sheryl could feel the pain radiating from Kate, and she drew her friend to her in a tight hug, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry … Please let me talk to you.”

  But Kate pulled away from her. “No! I’m through being shit on. Stupid, naïve Kate is through.” She pushed past Matt, who had come to the doorway.

  Sheryl flinched at the slamming of the front door. She looked up into her son’s somber eyes and her heart contracted. “You know,” she quietly stated.

  “Yeah. What I don’t know is why I had to wait so long to find out.”

  She reached up and tentatively touched Matt’s cheek. “Then we have a lot to talk about.”

  Matt stonily listened to his mother. Time seemed to stand still. In the end, after everything she’d told him, he only seemed to remember one thing, and he said, “He didn’t want me. He was my father and he didn’t give a shit about me.”

  His mother put her arms around him. “Oh, honey, don’t you understand? Dan is your father. He raised you and took care of you. He loves you.”

  Matt pulled away from her. “Paul Armstrong was my father. He knew he was my father and he didn’t care!” His voice grew thick with emotion and irony. “My idol was my father and he never did anything for me except send me six lousy letters. And you all lied to me.”

  Sheryl’s composure deserted her when she saw her son’s tears. “Sweetie, we just did the best we knew how. Think how much Dan loves you. He knew you were Paul’s, but he couldn’t have cared for you any more if you’d been his own.”

  Matt’s voice rose, and he sobbed, “But Paul didn’t care about me!”

  “He did care, Matt. But so many people would’ve been hurt if the truth came out. We thought we were doing the right thing. We were all very young. And very stupid. Paul didn’t love me and I didn’t love him.” She reached for his hand and held it to her cheek. “But I wanted you and loved you from the second I knew you were growing inside me. Everyone did. Dan and Mike and even Paul, after he knew. But there were too many things to consider. Paul loved Kate. His career was taking off. I was in love with Dan. It just seemed like the right thing to do, Matt.” Sheryl took his other hand and looked up at her tall, handsome son. “I’m going to let you go in a minute, but I want you to think about everything I’ve told you. People make mistakes when they’re scared. Try to remember that. And remember how much you’re loved. Your dad and I. Your grandparents. Mike. We all love you so much.”

  “Mike doesn’t know?”

  “He’ll know soon enough.
And it won’t make any difference to him.” Sheryl released his hands and stepped back. “I love you with all my heart, Matt. That’s all you need to remember. Now go. I know you want to be alone.”

  Matt started for the door, then stopped and turned. He saw the tears on his mother’s cheeks—the look of pain and fear on her face—and realized he’d never seen her cry before. The sight disconcerted him, and yet he said, “What do you think would have happened if you’d told the truth back then?”

  Sheryl lifted her chin a little higher. “I think you would’ve spent your life trying to live up to being Paul Armstrong’s son, and you wouldn’t be half the man you are today.”

  It wasn’t the answer he expected. In a voice that quavered only slightly, he said, “I love you, Mom.”

  The tenuous hold she had on her emotions drifted away like a piece of flotsam as soon as Matt left the room. Sheryl collapsed into a nearby chair and put her face in her hands. She wept with such force that her body shook.

  Only three people had known the circumstances of Matt’s birth, and one of those people was dead. She had held the secret for nineteen years. Now the world of three other people would fall apart because of it. She thought of Kate, and pulling her head up, wiped her wet cheeks. She’d never be able to make her understand. Kate had always been insufferably stubborn.

  • • •

  As parties go, this one is unexpectedly good. Sheryl has been enlisted to buy the beer and she fully understands why she has been invited in the first place. She’s the only twenty-one-year-old around. But she doesn’t let that bother her. A party is a party, and she is lonely without Dan.

  He’d begun his job as a sales rep for a tire company that was headquartered in Vienna, Virginia, six months before. They’d both managed to save enough money so that when they were married next month, they could move to Vienna with the first and last month’s rent on a small apartment and still live on his salary.