Authors: Kat Attalla
"You know Ruth and Joe go to mass every Sunday. What if they said something to Chloe?"
"I'm sure they did. But she can handle it, Jake. Or are you more worried about what Kate might find out while in town?"
He started to loosen his collar, but stopped when Trevor laughed again. "Grow up," he grunted.
"Me? I haven't had one of those marks on my neck since high school."
"Jealous?"
"You're damn straight. If I had known she was that aggressive, I might have asked her out myself."
"Shut up." He didn't like Trevor talking about Kate that way, even in jest.
Trevor came down from the ladder and folded it up. In his typical carefree manner, he found the opportunity to razz his brother more important than any work that had to be done. "So can I expect to be getting my house back anytime in the near future? Perhaps a switch with Kate?"
"You can forget that. I'd find myself back in court."
Trevor flopped down on the front stairs. "You could always marry her."
"I've known her four days."
"It only takes a minute to know if something's right."
"Oh, yeah. We have so much in common." Jake raised his hand in an imaginary toast, holding his pinky out. "Could you see me dressed in a tux and sipping champagne with the New York jet set?"
"What I see is a woman who gets up at six every morning to watch cows being milked as if it was an opening-night performance of the New York City Ballet. Someone who seems just a little bit happier and more relaxed with each passing day. Just because you wouldn't be comfortable in her world doesn't mean she couldn't be comfortable in yours. You put up the barriers, Jake. Not her."
"She's so damn rich. You know what people would say?"
"And we both know they don't talk about us now." Trevor's wry sense of humor never deserted him. Although Jake would never admit it, he admired his brother's ability to laugh at life's disappointments. "You can breathe now, Jake. They're back."
Jake gathered his wits and went to check on Chloe. He braced himself for another of her introverted silences. Instead, she came bouncing from the jeep like a child returning from a carnival.
She grabbed on to his arm in a fit of giggles, gasping for air so she could tell her story. "It was so funny, Dad. . . . You should have been there. You would have thought Mrs. Johannsen won the lottery when Kate bought her fruitcake."
Jake made a grimace of distaste. "The fruitcake? The dreaded fruitcake?"
"The very one. Here, I made you this," she said, pressing a cross of palms into his hand. "On Easter there's a midnight mass. Can I go?"
"Maybe," he said, not wanting to commit to anything until he had a chance to speak with Kate. "Were your grandparents there?"
Chloe crinkled her nose and then shrugged it off as no big deal. "Oh, yeah. Nana said she's gonna talk to you, so be prepared." She turned towards the jeep, a smile lighting her face. "What's taking' you so long, Kate?"
"This fruitcake weighs a ton," Kate complained, holding the offending object away from her body. She joined them and offered the cake to Jake. "You did say I should bring a cake for dinner, didn't you?"
"You can bury it in the compost heap. After that, I need to talk to you. Chloe, why don't you get changed." He looked at his daughter and noticed something different. "Where did you get that dress?"
Chloe did a small pirouette to show off the full swirl of the peach-colored dress. "Kate gave it to me. All my ones from last year were too small."
"You better give it back before you ruin it."
Chloe wrapped her arms possessively around her body. "She said I could have it. It doesn't fit her anymore."
"No! You don't ask people for their clothes," he said, feeling a bitterness churning in the pit of his stomach.
"It's all right. I said she could keep it," Kate said.
"And I said no. She doesn't need your castoffs. If she needs a dress, I'll buy her one."
Chloe looked as dazed as Kate, but she didn't dare disobey her father. "I'll bring it back in a few minutes, Kate."
Kate nodded sadly.
Jake waited until Chloe cleared off and turned a furious scowl on Kate. "Don't do that again. Don't give her your things."
"I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd be upset."
"Why? Do you think I'm so hard up that I need you giving my kid clothes?"
Her eyes got wider and she blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. "No."
"Then what were you thinking?"
Patches of red stained her cheeks. She looked everywhere, except at him. "It was a trade, Jake. She gave me overalls that were too big for her, and I gave her a dress that was too small. I'll give her back her things and it won't happen again."
His jaw dropped and he felt as if he'd been hit in the gut. He was, literally, when Kate shoved the cake at him.
"Bury it yourself."
He stood alone in the center of the yard, with a lead brick of a cake only Kate would be crazy enough to buy. Or kind enough. He could just imagine Mrs. Johansson’s face when someone finally bought one of her cakes.
Why couldn't he get a handle on his pride when it came to Kate?
The dress brought back too many memories of well-meaning people who stopped by with hand-me-downs for Chloe after her mother left. As if being without a wife meant he couldn't take care of his own child. He resented it then and even more so when he thought Kate was doing the same.
"Nice goin', Jake," Trevor said as he drew up alongside. "Next time, why not embarrass her in front of the entire town? I find it amazing that you were married for five years and you know nothing about women. They trade clothes the way men trade dirty jokes. It don't mean nothin'."
"It doesn't mean anything," he corrected as if he were talking to Chloe.
"I'm glad you agree. It's a good thing her cakes are better than sex, because you ain't getting the real thing for a while."
"Shut up, Trevor."
"Apologize, Jake. And stop trying to interfere in their friendship. She's the best thing to happen to Chloe in a long time. And you, too, if you'd stop being such a jackass."
Chapter Seven
Kate heard the knocking on the back door. She checked the window to be sure it wasn't Chloe, and then pretended not to notice. Let him spend the day stewing. He deserved it.
Is this what you wanted, Kate? To live in the real world? He couldn't handle what he believed her to be; he'd never deal with the truth.
Perhaps she should have taken her mother's advice. Stick to your own kind, Rosie had warned her. They may be superficial, but where there's no emotion, there's no pain.
Those weren't words to live by. Kate refused to start doubting her decision. No relationship ran smoothly all the time. A rough start meant it would only get better. Didn't it?
She wandered through the rooms, too restless to sit, too angry to work. A pile of catalogs sat undisturbed on the coffee table in the living room. She usually had such a passion for mail order, but even the best of the catalogs forwarded from home couldn't hold her attention for long.
Nikki! She could call her sister. Nikki would know how to handle a macho jerk. She'd had enough experience.
She went to the bedroom and sprawled across the bed, making herself comfortable for the marathon talk session. She dialed the New York number and waited an eternity for the connection to go through. Actually it was only one second, she conceded, but anticipation made it seem longer.
"Hi." The cheerful voice she missed came clearly through the line.
"Nikki. It's me."
"Ha ha. Fooled you. This is the new millennium; you know what to do at the tone. ..."
Damn. She hated that answering machine message her sister used. If she hadn't been so excited about talking to her, Kate might have remembered. "It's me. Call if you get a chance."
She hung up the phone feeling out of sorts. What did she expect? Her sister had a life. Everyone had a life except her.
The old velveteen rabbit that sat on her bed offered the only source of comfort that afternoon. The stuffed toy had belonged to Kelly, and it was the only thing she had left of the child. She cradled it in her arms and gave in to the overwhelming desire to cry.
God, how she still missed her. She wondered if there would ever come a day when she could think of Kelly and not fall apart.
* * * *
A ray of sun filtering through her window woke Kate in the afternoon. All the ghosts had returned to their hiding places, but her body ached with a dull residue of sorrow. She opened her eyes and glanced at the clock. Four o’clock? Had she really slept for four hours? She still had to make a cake for dinner. Although the nap had not softened her anger with Jake, she’d accepted the invitation, and she didn't want to disappoint Chloe.
A long, languid stretch removed some of the cramping from her arms and legs. She pushed back the blanket, surprised that she couldn't remember covering herself. Everything was hazy. She would have sworn she had left the quilt in the living room.
She stumbled into the bathroom to splash water on her face. The frigid spring water that flowed from the underground well never failed to shock her body to life. And the taste was pure and clean. She finished baking the cake and getting dressed, with time to spare. Surprisingly, Chloe hadn't stopped by with the dress. Perhaps Jake had had a change of heart?
Not likely, she decided. Chloe would probably return it when she arrived for dinner.
* * * *
"Set the table for four, Chloe," Jake said optimistically. He hoped that since Kate had spent the last hour in her kitchen, she’d made a cake for dinner rather than doing the painting she had spoken of earlier.
With Chloe sulking, Trevor smirking, and Kate reusing to answer the door, he'd had a hell of an afternoon. Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest, but he hadn't gotten any. When he had finally decided to walk into her house and demand that she listen to him, he bund her curled around that ratty-looking stuffed animal, fast asleep.
Her sniffling and hiccups made him feel like a first-class bastard. She’d evidently cried herself into exhaustion. As he pushed her hair off her face, she didn't stir. When he covered her with a blanket, it did nothing or the spontaneous trembling of her body. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her.
"Dad," Chloe called out, waving her hand in front I of his face. "Are you okay?"
He shook his head and focused his eyes on Chloe. "What were you saying?"
"Why don't you go ask her if she's coming before I set the table?"
"Will it kill you to put down an extra plate?" he snapped. Chloe frowned. "I'm sorry, Chloe. I'm sure she's coming."
Yes, she would come. But she would wait until the very last second, just to make him suffer. His pride told him she was being unreasonable, but that mocking little voice of conscience reminded him that he deserved her angry silence.
Ignoring his request for her to set the table, Chloe began peeking into the pots on the stove. "If you wanted to impress her, why did you make peas?"
"You're eating them. Don't use Kate as an excuse." He turned her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle push out of the kitchen. "Set the table like you're supposed to."
She paused at the archway and put her hands on her hips. "Go pick up your date like you're supposed to. Didn't you tell me I would never be allowed to go out with a guy who wouldn't pick me up at my front door?”
Lord, he had to choose his words carefully. Chloe had an excellent memory, and he would spend the next few years eating his words. "You're right. I will go collect my date."
"Wait." She looked him up and down, closing one eye and thoughtfully mulling over his appearance. "Unbutton your collar. You look like you're going' to Sunday school."
He didn't want to explain the mark on his neck to his teenaged daughter. For the next few days he was going to have to keep his shirt buttoned. "I can dress myself, Chloe."
She shrugged. "Just trying to help."
Jake sighed. He received dating tips from a fifteen-year-old who would rather play baseball with the boys than kiss them. Not to mention the helpful advice from his brother, a man whose last three relationships, totaled, didn't last a month. What a choice. And why was he laughing? He hadn't done such a bang-up job himself.