A Bridge to Love (9 page)

“You
have to think about it?” he filled in for her. “Well, I know that mine was the
Jaguar. There's nothing like a hot woman on the hood of a hot car.”

Kate
couldn't suppress a snicker. “You sound like an advertisement for a bad
pornographic movie. You could call it 'Body Shop Babes.'“ Her snicker turned
into rib-wrenching laughter.

“I
do my best to shock and provoke you and you laugh at me,” Randall complained.

“I'm
sorry,” Kate gasped as she wiped her eyes. “I seem to be beyond shock these
days.” She lightly touched his arm. “You know, Randall, I really do want to
thank you.”

“All
the women I make love to do.”

“No,
seriously. You've made me feel better, and I'm grateful.”

“I'm
not sure that I can return the compliment.”

“I
wish that we could have met under different circumstances,” Kate said, looking
down at her hands. “We might have liked each other.”

Randall's
lack of agreement was made plain by his silence. Kate noticed with relief that
they were nearing her house. After the Jaguar glided to a stop in her driveway,
she waited for Randall to come around and open her door. They walked up her
front steps side by side without speaking. Kate pulled her key out of her
pocketbook and said with a rueful smile, “It's been very interesting knowing
you.”

“Interesting
is one way to describe it,” he said. Then he slid his arms around her and
pulled her firmly up against him. Kate involuntarily looked up and saw his eyes
gleaming in the porch light just before he lowered his head to kiss her. Kate
allowed herself to lean into him this one last time and by the time he was
done, she almost hoped that he would suggest a visit to the backseat of the
Jaguar. He knew it, too; he held her in one arm and, with an insolent smile,
ran his other hand slowly and deliberately across her breast and down her hip.
Kate shuddered as his fingers brushed along her inner thigh. Then suddenly, he
released her.

“Sweet
dreams, Coach,” he said over his shoulder as he walked down the steps.

Eight

As soon as she had worked the
kinks out of her back the next morning, Kate stomped into the kitchen and
pulled the scrap of paper with Randall's number on it out of the knife drawer.
She found a particularly repulsive rotten banana peel in the kitchen garbage and
shoved the paper firmly under it. Washing her hands, she felt a gray mist of
depression swirl around her. She stared blankly out the window over the kitchen
sink as the water poured unnoticed over her thoroughly rinsed fingers.

“Hey,
Mom. Can we have French toast for breakfast?” Clay asked as he came down the
back stairs into the kitchen.

Kate
jumped, then turned off the water and smiled at her son. She wasn't meant for
mountaintops and Jaguars. She was meant to fix French toast on Sunday mornings
for the two most wonderful boys in the world. “Sure. Pour yourself a big glass
of orange juice and one order of French toast will be up in a minute.”

“Did
you see the message I wrote down about Oliver coming today?” Clay said,
pointing to the piece of paper on the counter.

Kate
groaned inwardly. She had seen it last night and couldn't believe her bad luck
that Oliver had called while she was out with Randall. “Yes. Thanks for writing
it down.”

“Unlike
some people we know,” Clay said, as he rolled his eyes upward toward Patrick's
room. “Oliver couldn't believe that we beat Oak Grove! I told him about Mr.
Johnson helping with the defense.”

Kate
groaned out loud this time.

“What's
wrong? Was that a secret?”

“No,
no. I was thinking about something I forgot to do,” Kate lied shamelessly.

Clay
hesitated. “Mom, did you know that Mr. Johnson was coming to our game?”

“No,
he surprised me. But evidently your brother had some knowledge of it.”

Clay
snorted in brotherly disgust. “Patrick is a moron.”

Kate
let the insult slide, glad that her redirection of the conversation had worked.
Clay did not mention Randall Johnson again.

Oliver
arrived at two with steaks, a bottle of wine and sports magazines for the boys.
After soccer and dinner, he joined her again on the porch swing. Kate tried to
avoid the lecture she expected on Randall Johnson by bringing up business.
“When do you think the partnership papers will be ready for me to sign?”

Oliver
grimaced. “Who knows? Once you get lawyers involved, everything gets slower and
more complicated.”

Kate
laughed. “I'll tell Georgia you said so.”

“She'll
sue me for slander,” he said smiling. Then he blew out a breath. “Our lawyer
drew up the papers – which he claims are very straightforward. But then Paul
Desmond's lawyer wanted to look at them. And of course he wants to change some
clauses. It'll probably go back and forth another half a dozen times before the
lawyers feel that they've collected enough billable hours for the whole thing.”

“Paul
Desmond is the new partner?”

“Yes.
You'll have to come and meet him, Kate. He's bringing a very extensive client
list with him. He'll be good for C/R/G.”

They
chatted for a while about the firm's future and then Oliver said abruptly, “I
thought you weren't dating Randall Johnson.”

“I'm
not,” Kate said, bracing herself.

“The
boys seem to think you are. Clay told me that you were having dinner with him
last night when I called. And that he came to their soccer game yesterday.”

Kate
looked down into her wineglass. “Yes, well, both of those things are true. But
his appearance at the soccer game was a total surprise to me. And I won't be
having dinner with him again.”

“You
said that last week.”

Kate
winced. “I did, didn't I? This time I mean it.”

Oliver
brought the swing's gentle rocking to a sudden halt. “Kate, you need to
consider your position as the single mother of two young boys. When people see
you with a man like Randall Johnson, they'll start to think the wrong thing.
And the boys may hear about it. I know you well enough to know that you aren't
that sort of woman, but other people might not.”

For
some reason, Kate felt obliged to defend Randall. “He's not as black as he's
painted.”

“He
won't marry you. A man like that is interested in only one thing, and once he
gets it, he'll forget your name.”

Kate
rolled her eyes at how wrong Oliver was. His persistence on the subject was
beginning to irritate her. “I saw Randall Johnson twice—or three times, if you
count the soccer game, which I don't. I don't have any expectations of him, and
I don't plan to see him again. Now could we talk about something else?”

Oliver
stood up and paced across the porch, leaving the swing vibrating under Kate. “I
don't think you realize how people like Randall Johnson live. They don't care
who they hurt in the process of pursuing their own gratification.”

“Yes,
well, at least he's not hurting a wife,” Kate said bitterly as she took a gulp
of wine.

Oliver
must have caught the edge in her voice because he swung around to look at her
closely. “What do you mean?”

Kate
shrugged. “Just that he's had the sense not to get married since he wants to
fool around.” She looked Oliver straight in the eye. “Some men aren't that
honest.”

“What
are you getting at?”

Using
her anger to give her courage, Kate took the plunge. “What do you know about David
and Sylvia?” She practically choked on the name. She waited, wondering if he
really knew, and if he would try to protect David.

Oliver
turned away and stared out over the yard. “You knew about Sylvia?”

Oliver knew.

“Not
knew, know. I found out the hard way. Right after you came here to talk about
taking on a new partner, I discovered a letter that she wrote to David. It
wasn't a pleasant experience to learn that my deceased husband had been
committing adultery shortly before his death.”

Oliver
glanced briefly at her, then looked away again. “No, I imagine that it wasn't.”
He suddenly came back to sit beside her on the swing, saying, “I'm so sorry you
had to find out about it. But David had ended the relationship before he died.
You must believe me about that.”

“How
long had he been sleeping with her? And who was she?”

Oliver's
concerned expression vanished. “I don't think that you need to know the sordid
details. David made a terrible mistake, but he realized it and stopped.”

“I
would hardly call knowing who my husband's mistress was and how long she had
been his mistress
details
,” Kate
said. Softening her voice, she tried a different approach.

“You're
my friend, Oliver. I need to know these things to help myself deal with this
horrible blow to my whole concept of my married life. And you're the only
person who can help me because the person I would normally ask is dead.”

Oliver
drummed his fingers on the swing's arm. “Why do you want to hear about David's
infidelity? It can only hurt you.”

“I'm
already hurt to the very bottom of my soul,” Kate said quietly. “And I can't
start healing until I know what happened and why it happened.”

“Christ,
I don't know why it happened. I don't think that David knew why it happened.”

“That's
crap. David let it happen.”

Oliver
looked shocked. Then he changed tack.

“Now
you know why I'm so disturbed by your involvement with Randall Johnson. I don't
want to see you mixed up with another man who will not treat you well. You
deserve better.”

“I
appreciate your concern. But you could demonstrate it more constructively by
telling me what you know about David's affair.”

Oliver
shook his head. “I'm sorry, Kate. I don't see what could be gained by bringing
up old ghosts.”

“Isn't
that my decision to make?” Kate was furious at his patronizing assumption that
he knew what was best for her.

Oliver
shook his head again. “When you think about it calmly you'll be glad I didn't
tell you.”

Kate
made a wordless sound of anger and frustration. She got up and walked across
the porch, crossing her arms and leaning her hip on the railing.

“I
got involved with Randall because I was angry with David.” She paused for a
moment and then took a deep breath. “In fact, I went to bed with Randall
because I was angry with David. And he hasn't forgotten my name. Now would you
like to tell me about Sylvia?”

Oliver's
look of horrified disbelief would have been funny if Kate had been anywhere
near a laughing mood. He said quietly, “How could you demean yourself that
way?”

Kate
felt a flush spreading up her neck to her face, but her sense of shame
evaporated when Oliver stood up and strode over to her. His gray eyes had grown
dark and his face was set in harsh lines. Putting his hands on the railing on
either side of her hips, he leaned in close to her. “I love you, Kate. You're
everything that I admire in a woman. But I wanted you to have time to mourn
David. So, like a decent human being, I kept my feelings bottled up inside.”
Oliver pushed back and paced across the porch. “Now I find out that you've
jumped into bed with a man who has nothing to recommend him but a pile of new
money. It turns my stomach to think about it!”

Kate
slumped against the railing and dragged in a shaky breath. “I had no idea...”
Her voice quavered slightly. “I don't know quite what to say.”

In
two strides Oliver was again in front of her. Kate jumped when he brought his
hands up but he just took her gently by the shoulders. “Say that you'll look at
me as more than a friend. I never understood how David could be unfaithful to
you. I told him what a fool he was, and I tried to protect you from knowing
about his affair. When he died, I'm ashamed to say that once I got over the
blow of losing my best friend, I was almost happy because now I had a clear
chance with you.”

Kate
closed her eyes to block out the face that suddenly seemed like a stranger's.
She felt her precariously balanced world tilting on its axis and struggled to
stay calm. Steady, quiet Oliver had nurtured a hidden passion for her? He had
helped David hide his affair from her? And he was upset by her fling with
Randall Johnson?

She
opened her eyes fast when she felt his lips touch hers gently, then
insistently. Holding very still, she pressed her lips together and willed him
to stop. But Oliver took his time exploring the curves of her mouth. When he
finally drew back, he showed no sign of apology or embarrassment.

To
forestall any further intimacy, Kate hurried into speech. “I need to think
about this. I'm very fond of you but I need some time to consider you in this
other way.” She tried to smile. “It might be a good idea for you to go home
now.”

“Of
course,” Oliver said, as his hands slid down her arms. He grasped her hands in
his and squeezed them gently. “I'll call you tomorrow. We'll go out for dinner
and talk.”

“That
sounds fine,” she said to placate him. She walked with him to the kitchen and
put the counter between them as she said good night. Oliver hesitated a moment,
then lifted his hand in farewell and let himself out the back door. Kate
collapsed into a chair and, resting her elbows on the counter, rubbed her hands
across her mouth.

“Hey,
Mom, did Oliver leave already?” Clay asked as he came down the steps. “I wanted
to show him something on the Internet.”

Kate
lifted her head and said, “He was in a hurry and didn't have a chance to say
good-bye.”

“That's
weird.” Clay looked at her curiously. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.
Just a little tired.”

Kate
wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.

Clay
gave her a quick squeeze back. Then she let him go because she knew that at his
age being hugged by his mother – even in private – embarrassed him. “Why don't
you show me whatever it is on the Internet?” she suggested.

“Sure.”
Clay launched into an explanation as she followed him up the stairs, leaving
her problems with Oliver firmly behind in the kitchen.

Once
the boys were in bed, Kate poured herself a glass of wine, closed the door to
the family room and dialed Georgia's telephone number.

“Hey,
Kate. How are you?”

“Crazed.
Off balance. Thrown for a loop.”

“Whoa,
girl. You didn't find another letter to David from some other woman?”

Kate
snorted. “I wish. This has to do with the living. You're not going to believe
this but Oliver Russell just told me that he loves me.”

“I
wondered when he would get around to that. He hangs around your family way too
much for a normal single man.”

“He
was David's friend,” Kate insisted. “He likes all of us.”

“I
think that he likes the whole idea of your family; you all are so picture
perfect.”

“You
make us sound like the Brady Bunch.”