A Bridge to Love (6 page)

Tom
got up to go. “First, a sentimental attachment to a two-bit regional bank.
Next, complaints about a woman who's too willing. I'm starting to worry about
you; you must be getting soft.”

There
was nothing soft about Randall's expression, however, and Tom decided that
retreat would be wise. As he passed Gail's desk, he bent down and whispered, “I
wouldn't go in there for at least a half an hour.”

By
Friday, Kate's fragile optimism was fraying around the edges. No one had a
part-time job for a civil engineer or even a draftsman, and she was getting
desperate.

She
had come to regard the ring of the telephone with the same enthusiasm as she
would the rattle of a diamondback. She couldn't ignore it in case it was a job
offer. But each time she picked up the receiver she braced herself to either be
turned down by another engineering firm or, even worse, to hear Randall
Johnson's drawl on the line. He had said he would call, and she was quite sure
that he didn't make idle threats. Just thinking of her evening with him made
her blush with shame. However, sometimes as she lay in bed on the edge of
falling asleep, memories of the physical pleasures drifted through her mind.

She
enjoyed those memories more than she wanted to admit.

That
afternoon Clay and Patrick presented Kate with their first week's pay.
Together, the three of them cleaned out a cookie jar, labeled it
Dog Dough
and stashed their earnings in
it. They all agreed that whatever they hadn't spent at the end of the following
week would be divided equally between the boys.

“I'm
going to save up to buy a CAD-CAM program for the computer,” Clay announced.

“I
have one already,” Kate said.

“Mom,
that one's obsolete.”

Kate
winced. She had used that program for her consulting business. She hoped that
Clay's comment didn't apply to her qualifications as well.

Patrick
thought for a minute. “Can I put it in my savings account?” he asked.

“Well,
sure,” said Kate. “But isn't there something you'd like to buy with it? You've
earned it, you know.”

Patrick
shook his head firmly. “I like to earn interest best,” he said.

Kate
rolled her eyes. “A budding J. P. Morgan.”

“I'd
rather be Bill Gates.”

Kate
laughed. “You'll be even richer than Bill Gates if you start saving your money
at this age.”

“Isn't
Mr. Johnson rich, too? Clay says he owns a whole bunch of companies.”

Kate
looked at Clay, who shrugged. “I looked him up on the Internet. He owns an
airline, an oil company and a bunch of other stuff.”

“And
a helicopter,” Patrick added. “It showed a picture of him getting in it. Mom,
it's a Bell JetRanger!”

“I
imagine that it belongs to the company,” Kate said in an attempt to quell his
enthusiasm.

“Well,
he owns the company, so he owns the helicopter, too,” Patrick said with unassailable
logic. “Maybe he'll give you a ride in it.”

Kate
shuddered; she hated to fly in anything. “I hope not. And you don't need to do
any more research on Mr. Johnson. I won't be seeing him again.”

Clay
looked torn between sympathy and relief. “Bad date?” he asked.

“Just
boring,” Kate said. “Now what about a movie?”

Oliver
had promised to come on Sunday for soccer practice and dinner. He arrived with
a bouquet of flowers and a new soccer ball. Kate watched him rumple her sons'
hair and listen to their loud and simultaneous descriptions of dog walking,
winning Saturday's soccer game and acing tests in school. She thought what a
heartwarming picture the three of them made: the tall, quiet man with two
energetic boys orbiting around him.

Oliver
looked up to catch her watching, and his slow smile lit up his face. Kate
smiled back. He handed her the flowers with a small bow. “Congratulations on
your undefeated record in soccer,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks.
I'm beginning to feel like a real coach. That
Soccer for Dummies
book really works.”

The
whole group moved into the kitchen where Kate filled her sons' water bottles
and put her flowers in a vase before heading out to the backyard. Although
Oliver and her sons could run rings around Kate, they always insisted that she
participate in their Sunday afternoon scrimmages. When Kate pointed out that
coaches were paid to supervise, all three males would look sad and beg her to
even up the sides. Usually she agreed to play goalie since it required the
least amount of ball-handling skill.

As
the sunlight slanted lower across the yard, Kate decided that she had put in
her time and she needed to start dinner. “This is the last shot on goal,” she
called. Oliver neatly passed to Patrick who gave the ball a hard kick to the
corner of the goal. Kate threw herself at the ball and caught it just before it
went by her.

“Way
to go, Mom. Great hands!” Clay cheered.

Oliver
gave her a male jock slap on the rear and said, “Great save.”

Kate
smacked his rear right back and said, “Thanks. You can play awhile longer.”

She
walked into the kitchen chuckling and heard the telephone ringing. Without
thinking, she picked up the receiver. “Hello,” she said as she opened the
refrigerator door to get out the hamburger meat.

“Hello,
Kate. This is Randall.” As if that voice could belong to anyone else.

Kate
straightened up abruptly and let the refrigerator door swing closed. She took a
deep breath. “Hello, Randall. How are you?”

“Well,
I'm standing here on my heated terrace with my shoes off, but I'm not having as
much fun as the last time I did that. I was hoping you would come up here and
join me.”

Kate
closed her eyes. She had a vision of Randall dressed as he was at the Princeton
picnic, in blue jeans and a white shirt, but barefoot. She was suddenly
overwhelmed with a longing to feel the warm skin and muscle under the shirt and
jeans. “No, no, I can't,” Kate said, horrified at the obvious regret in her
voice.

“Can't
or won't?”

“Both.”

“I
understand. You have kids. So we'll have dinner on Saturday. I'll pick you up
at seven.”

“No,
Randall. I'm not...”

Kate
realized that she was talking to a dead telephone line. He had hung up.

“What
an arrogant –” she said, slamming the phone onto its cradle. Then she sagged
against the wall. She had intended to be polite but very firm in her refusal
and instead she had sounded like a wimp. Randall Johnson was pushing her
buttons and he knew it. She resolved to call him back, give him a piece of her
mind and tell him never to call her again.

She'd
do it on Monday.

Six

Dinner was over, and the boys
had disappeared upstairs. Oliver and Kate had carried their wine out onto the
porch to listen to the crickets and watch the moon. Kate remembered evenings
when this scene had included David. Not long ago, the recollection would have
made her smile through a haze of tears. Now she wanted to scream at David for
ruining even her memories.

Kate
dropped onto one end of the wicker porch swing as Oliver seated himself two
feet away on the other end. She tucked her legs up under her, giving Oliver the
job of keeping the swing going.

“I
didn't know that you had decided to start dating,” Oliver began. “Patrick told
me that you went out to dinner last weekend. With a man who owns a helicopter.”

Kate
laughed without much humor. “That wasn't a date; it was a mistake.”

“I'm
not surprised. Randall Johnson isn't exactly in your league.”

“Excuse
me?” Kate said in a slightly frosty tone.

Oliver
smiled as he said apologetically, “I didn't mean it that way. I meant that he has
a certain reputation, which wouldn't appeal to you.”

“What
reputation is that?”

Oliver
shrugged. “He's a womanizer. Here today, gone tomorrow. He attracts starlets
and fashion models.”

“All
blond, according to Georgia,” Kate added.

“Exactly.
The very rich live by a different set of moral standards than you and I do.”

Kate
couldn't repress a bitter laugh. “Don't be so sure about that.”

Oliver
raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

Regretting
her outburst, Kate stared into her wineglass for a moment. “It's not worth
discussing.”

Oliver
looked as though he had more to say but he obligingly changed the subject. “The
boys tell me they're walking dogs to make money.”

“Yes.
It was all their own idea, and I'm about to burst with pride.”

“They
also said you sold the Porsche.”

“It's
hard to keep a secret with the two town criers in residence,” Kate said
lightly.

Oliver
reached over and took Kate's free hand. “Kate, are you in that much financial
trouble? I don't want you to struggle. Let me help.”

Kate
let out a shaky breath as she gave Oliver's hand an affectionate squeeze. “I'm
just trying to plan for the future. This old house is expensive to maintain,
the boys' expenses are going to keep going up, I have to save for college
tuition... the list goes on and on. The bottom line is that I have to go back
to work.”

“Clay
and Patrick are still pretty young, Kate. You don't want them to be latchkey
kids, do you?”

Kate
pulled her hand away. Oliver was making her feel guilty so she snapped at him,
“No, I don't, but sometimes one doesn't have a choice, does one? David didn't
make any provision for his death, so I'm left to cope with the consequences.”

“You
seem angry with David.” Oliver sounded shocked.

Yes,
she was but she wasn't about to tell Oliver why.

“No,
no. Just upset and a bit overwhelmed. I didn't expect to be in this position
and I wasn't prepared for it,” Kate said, sagging back into her corner. She
mustered a weak smile. “I'm sorry. I don't want to leave Clay and Patrick alone
either.”

“I
have no business commenting on your decisions,” Oliver said with an apologetic
touch on her hand.

“Sure
you do. You're my friend and that's what friends do.”

Oliver
was silent for a while. His long legs were stretched out and crossed at the
ankles, his knees folding and unfolding with the swing's motion. Kate couldn't
help comparing his short straight nose and classic features to Randall
Johnson's strong profile and slashing cheekbones. Kate shook her head to banish
the image. Oliver was a very attractive man with clear blue eyes and a slow
smile. He was considerate, caring – the exact opposite of Randall Johnson. He
was also slightly dull.

Kate
sighed and Oliver spoke at the same moment. “Have you considered marrying
again?”

“You
and Georgia!” Kate said in exasperation. “This is not the Dark Ages, you know.
Women don't solve all their problems by getting married. Besides, I'm sure that
my hypothetical husband would be just delighted to know that I married him so I
didn't have to get a job.”

Oliver
laughed. “I'm not suggesting that you marry someone you don't care about in
other ways.”

Kate
sighed again.

“I
have to do some rebuilding first,” she said.

“Rebuilding?”

“Of
my soul, of my confidence, of something inside,” she groped for the proper
phrasing. “It's hard to explain.”

Of
course, she couldn't explain the real reason for the devastation of her sense
of self.

Then
it suddenly struck her. Oliver might have known about Sylvia. She winced just
thinking of the woman's name. She looked at Oliver with new intent. He had been
David's closest friend. Would David have told him about an affair?

Kate
was pondering how she could find out, subtly, whether her husband had confessed
his adultery when Oliver spoke again.

“You
loved David very much, didn't you?”

“What?”
Kate was startled by the question's odd relation to her own thoughts. “Yes, I
did,” she said truthfully. “But that's the past and I have to go forward now.”

“I'm
glad to hear you say that.”

“I
know. I'm supposed to be out of the mourning period after all this time.”

“Not
just because of that.”

“Then
why?” Kate asked, sipping her wine and looking at Oliver curiously.

He
hesitated and then smiled at her. “Because it's hard to compete with a memory.”

For
a split second, Kate thought that Oliver meant that
he
was competing with David's memory. Then she realized she was
reading too much into his comment.

She
changed the subject. “I'm ready to sign the partnership sale papers whenever
they're ready. I've been over the numbers and I can't make them come out any
higher, no matter what I do.”

“Don't
you think I tried that already?” Oliver asked angrily.

“I
was joking,” Kate said, taken aback at his vehemence.

“I'm
sorry. I just feel so terrible about this....”

“David
would want us to do what's best for C/R/G,” Kate said quickly.

After
they had sat in silence for a while longer, she took his empty wineglass,
carried it into the kitchen and began tidying up so that he could go upstairs
to say good night to the boys. She was disconcerted when he came back into the
room and drew her into his arms, holding her lightly against him. “Kate, think
about what I said earlier. And remember to ask me if you need anything at all.”

“Thank
you. I will.” Kate put a little distance between them. “Good night, Oliver.
I'll talk to you when the papers are ready.”

As
she watched him pull out of the driveway, she was still considering the best
way to approach him about David's affair.

Monday
morning she braced herself and dialed Randall's work number. She got the same
lovely female voice, which informed her that Mr. Johnson was out of the office
for the day. Kate heaved a sigh of relief, and then said, “Please let him know
that Kate Chilton will not be able to keep her engagement with him Saturday
night.”

“Ms.
Chilton, I'm so glad that you called,” his administrative assistant spoke as
though to a long lost friend. “Mr. Johnson asked me to give you his private
telephone number.”

“He
did?” Kate squeaked, automatically picking up a pen and scribbling it down.
“Thanks, but you'll give him my message, won't you?”

“Of
course, Ms. Chilton. Good-bye.”

Kate
stood looking at the square of paper with the private number on it as though it
contained hieroglyphics. She had to give him full marks for this maneuver. It
was the most subtle but profound kind of flattery. And she wasn't immune to it.
She stashed the paper in her cutlery drawer.

Resolutely
putting Randall Johnson out of her mind, Kate immersed herself in the plans and
design proposals of her former life. She was relieved at how quickly her brain
started to follow the old paths. If only someone would hire her! She was
actually looking forward to analyzing structural stresses and load-bearing
points again. She even pulled out the set of blueprints of the George
Washington Bridge that David had given her for her birthday years ago. Kate
loved bridges and the GWB was her favorite. She traced its soaring piers and
curving cables with familiar affection and admiration. She could still think
like an engineer.

Clay
and Patrick came home to find their mother engrossed by the computer. “What are
you designing, Mom?” Clay wanted to know, looking over her shoulder.

“A
new tunnel under the Hudson River,” Kate said, as she clicked away with the
mouse. “I'm tired of sitting in traffic when I go into New York City.”

“Cool.”
The two boys settled down on either side of her, asking questions and offering
suggestions. They would have worked right through dinner if Patrick's stomach
hadn't rumbled. Kate wondered why she had never shared this part of her life
with her sons before.

She
was loading the dishwasher with dinner plates when Clay suddenly called her
from the family room. “Mom, Mr. Johnson's company is on the news. His storage
tanks are burning.”

Kate
dashed in to see a dramatic aerial view of flames shooting up against the night
sky. The television screen was captioned
TexOil
storage tanks, Elizabeth, NJ
. The camera cut to a reporter standing in
front of an array of fire trucks. “Eyewitnesses say that the tanks seemed to
literally explode into flames about a half an hour ago. Fire-fighting equipment
is on the scene but a spokesperson states that all they can do is try to keep
the nearby tanks from catching fire as well.”

There
was the unmistakable racket of a helicopter overwhelming the reporter's
commentary. He stopped to watch it land behind the fire trucks and the view
shifted back to the aerial shot.

“Do
you think that was Mr. Johnson's helicopter?” Patrick asked without taking his
eyes off the television.

Before
Kate could answer, the screen shifted back to the reporter. “The helicopter you
saw landing belongs to RJ Enterprises, the corporation which owns TexOil. It
has been confirmed that CEO Randall Johnson was on board. Sources say that
employees working in the control center of the storage facility are still
unaccounted for. Although the fire does not threaten that area, there is a
danger of smoke inhalation. Firefighters are mounting a rescue expedition.”

Suddenly,
Kate spotted him. “There he is, in the dark suit, talking with the fireman and
another man in a suit. See him? By the ladder truck?”

“How
many men did you get out of the control room?” Randall barked at the fire
chief.

“Two.
That's all that were in there.”

“There
should be four. Tom, was one of the two they found the foreman?” Randall asked,
turning to Tom Rogan, who had arrived on the scene first.

“I
don't know. They took them straight to the hospital.”

“Damn!
The other two must have gone for the manual shut-off valves behind Tank C.”
Randall turned back to the fire chief. “Give me a coat and five of your
strongest men.”

The
fire chief didn't like taking orders, especially from a civilian. “You can't go
in there.”

“The
hell I can't. Those are my people and my oil tanks.” Randall grabbed a
fireman's coat off the nearest fire truck and shrugged into it. “I know where
the valves are and you don't. Get your men or I'm going in alone.”

The
chief cursed but called out several names. “Mr. CEO thinks he knows where the
missing men are. Take care of him.”

Randall
addressed the firefighters, yelling over the noise of the blaze, “We're heading
behind Tank C over there. We're going to close the valves feeding all the tanks
and bring back my men. Let's go.”

“Mom,
I think that Mr. Johnson's going after the missing guys!” Patrick exclaimed in
disbelief.

“The
firemen are trained to rescue people. He should let them do their job,” Kate
said tartly
. What was he thinking? Those
oil tanks could explode at any minute!

“He'll
be okay. He knows what he's doing,” Clay said in a clear attempt to comfort
her.

Kate
gave him a strained smile and then exclaimed “Oh, for Pete's sake!” as the news
program cut to a different story.

She
looked at the clock and said, “Time to do your reading. Go upstairs. I'll call
you if the oil tanks come back on.”

Clay
and Patrick grumbled and dragged their feet as they trudged upstairs.

Kate
was amazed by the weight of her concern for Randall Johnson. She had wanted to
scream at him to stop as he dashed into the flames. Evidently physical
intimacy, even with a virtual stranger, created ties she hadn't been aware of.