Just Like Heaven (7 page)

Ed had been around the French women long enough to know better than to allow himself to be drawn into one of these impossible-to-win discussions, and feigned a catnap.

“Your heart was trying to tell you something,” Maeve said. “You need to let some whimsy into your heart.”

“I’ll tell Dr. Lombardi,” Kate said. “He’s leaning toward Lipitor.”

Maeve, who was very good at ignoring cheap shots, plunged ahead. “This is a sign from above that it’s time for a change.”

“A sign from above? I thought your goddesses were all earthbound.”

“A woman’s belief system isn’t meant to be parsed like a subordinate clause.” Maeve looked toward Ed for support. “Besides, a little spirituality wouldn’t hurt you, Katherine Margaret.”

“I agree.” So much for Ed’s fake catnap. “Marie and I decided a few years ago to start going back to church. Best decision we’ve ever made.”

Kate didn’t even try to mask her surprise. “I suppose you went back for the kids’ sake?” Ed and Marie had three children, all under the age of twelve.

“That’s how it started,” Ed said, “but I think we’ve gotten more out of it than they have.”

“So you’re a practicing Catholic again.” She couldn’t have been more surprised if he had told her he’d decided to take up ballet.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said with a laugh. “I thought twelve years at St. Aloysius had pretty much beaten it out of you too.”

“I found I missed the ritual.”

“You always did like the smell of incense.” She meant it as a joke, but nobody laughed. What on earth was going on today? A sense of humor was definitely an endangered species.

“I’m not talking about the theatrics of religion,” Ed said as Maeve nodded in agreement. “I’m talking about the sense of continuity.” Apparently for Ed it was about family, about his own history, about taking strength from something bigger than he was, bigger than any problem life could throw his way.

It was a side of him Kate had never seen before, and she was intrigued. Funny how you could know a man your entire life, share a ten-year marriage and a beautiful child, and still not begin to understand what made him tick.

“You never miss it?” he asked her.

She thought about it for a moment. “Last Christmas I thought about going to midnight mass but I stretched out on the sofa with some eggnog and the feeling passed.”

“My daughter the comedienne,” Maeve said with a shake of her head. “The closer you get to her authentic self, the more she makes with the jokes.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Organized religion isn’t for everyone,” she said, wishing she didn’t sound quite so defensive. “I think I’m managing to lead a decent and productive life without it.”

“But are you as happy as you could be?” her mother prodded.

“Is anybody?”

“Some people are.”

“I don’t see what religion has to do with my happiness.”

Ed raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to start a holy war, ladies.”

“Don’t worry. You didn’t start anything, Ed. This is an ongoing skirmish,” Maeve said. “My daughter doesn’t think much of my spiritual quests.”

“Maybe I’d think more of your spiritual quests if they didn’t always end up with a new wardrobe and a six-figure book deal.”

They were all grateful when Gwynn floated back into the room carrying two plastic vases overflowing with Ed’s very expensive flowers. Gwynn herself overflowed with funny stories and observations, all tailored to amuse her father and remind him that his firstborn still needed his attention too.

Kate couldn’t help but wonder when Gwynn planned to drop the Andrew bomb on poor, unsuspecting Ed.

Then again maybe Ed wasn’t half as clueless as she had been and was prepared. His emotional radar had always been more well developed than hers. He had known she wanted to leave him before she was willing to admit that the marriage had run its course. She doubted he would be as blindsided as she had been by Gwynn’s news.

Kate pretended to doze as conversation washed over her. All of this emotional Sturm und Drang was exhausting. Her heart attack had made everyone else just the slightest bit crazy and they were wearing her out.

She finally convinced Ed that she wasn’t going to have a relapse and that he should go home to his family and catch up on his sleep.

“You should eat something first,” Gwynn said. “Why don’t we go get something in the courtyard before you go?”

Ed hesitated, but something in his daughter’s eyes and tone of voice persuaded him to go with her. No surprise there. Kate had chosen the father of her only child very well. Ed was a terrific father, and her only regret was that they hadn’t been able to grant their daughter’s greatest wish: that her parents would stay married.

“He’s good with her,” Maeve said after Ed and Gwynn left. “She’ll listen to what he has to say.”

“Ouch,” Kate said. “That hurts.”

“She’s a daddy’s girl, sweetie. Always was, always will be. There’s nothing you can do about that.”

“Do you think he can persuade her to go home and get back to work?”

“I hope so,” Maeve said. “She’s on the phone with Andrew from the moment we get to your place until we leave the next morning.”

“A slight exaggeration, Mom?”

“She sleeps with her cell phone on the pillow so they can breathe for each other.”

“Oh God. I thought we left that behind when she turned eighteen.”

“She’s a romantic. Some of us never leave it behind.”

“And how about you?” Kate asked. “You should get back to your book tour.”

Maeve looked surprised. “And leave you to fend for yourself?”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ll be going back to work next week.”

“I thought Dr. Lombardi told you to take three weeks off.”

“I don’t know where you got that from. He hasn’t mentioned anything like that.”

Maeve tapped her earrings with her index finger and set them dancing, the way she did whenever she was about to make a big announcement. “I cancelled my tour, honey. I’m going to stay right here and take care of you until you’re back on your feet, no matter how long it takes.” She leaned over and kissed the top of Kate’s head. “It will be like a mini-vacation for both of us.”

Was forty-one too old to run away from home?

Four

Friday meetings could go either way. Sometimes it was standing room only, everyone looking to stockpile support against the uncertainties of the weekend ahead, while other times it was the leader and a handful of longtime members who found strength in routine, not numbers.

Mark had been leading the group for almost a year and he’d grown used to the ebb and flow. Ultimately it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with everybody else.

They were an eclectic group of cops, lawyers, doctors, writers, teachers, housewives, ex-cons, and a priest on sabbatical, with one thing in common: they were all recovering alcoholics who wanted to stay sober and were willing to do whatever it took to make that happen.

He’d been to groups that were nothing more than an aggregation of individuals linked by an acronym. But this one was different. He’d found some real friends and he wasn’t looking forward to telling them that the New Hampshire job had come through and he’d be leaving Memorial Day weekend.

He switched off the lights and locked the door. Scott, Matty, and Ann were waiting for him in the parking lot for the weekly run to Zaslow’s for pastrami and fellowship.

“I’ve got news,” he said after they’d settled into a booth and placed their orders.

“You won the Megabucks lottery,” Ann said.

“You’re trading in that Honda for a Pinto,” Matty chimed in.

“You sold the house,” Scott said, “didn’t you?”

“I signed the papers Wednesday morning,” he said. “We close the Thursday before Memorial Day.”

“Shit.” Matty didn’t even try to hide his disappointment. “That was fast.”

Ann elbowed Matty in his well-padded ribs. “You knew this was going to happen sooner or later.”

Scott gave Mark one of those ex-cop looks that had scared hell out of a generation of perps. “You got the job?”

“I got the job.”

It was a bittersweet moment for all of them. They had all known he would go back sooner or later, but it surprised them just the same. He told them about the timeline his real estate agent had laid out and about the equally stringent timeline Maggy had set for his return to New Hampshire.

“I don’t see what they’ve got that we haven’t got,” Matty said. “Maple syrup? You can get that at Costco.”

Ann shot him a look. “We all have fences to mend. Mark’s happen to be in New Hampshire.”

The waitress brought their orders and they tucked into pastrami sandwiches while they caught up on the last week. Matty had had a root canal. Ann’s traffic dispute was headed to court. Scott’s insurance work might take him to Dallas next week, but he wouldn’t know until Sunday night.

“We already know what your week was like,” Ann said, reaching for a kosher dill. “You’re pulling up stakes and leaving us behind.”

He looked up from the remains of his sandwich. “Actually there’s more.” And he told them about the red-haired woman in the Miata.

Even he had to admit it was a damn good story. It had drama, a hint of sex, a touch of
ER
and
Grey’s Anatomy.
What it didn’t have was any kind of resolution.

“You went all the way to the hospital with her and you never got her name? What a moron!” Ann was the tactful one of the group.

“I had other things on my mind.” Her life had seemed more important than her identity at the time.

“So why are you looking for her?” Scott probed. “Idle curiosity or is it something else?”

He didn’t answer right away, which was an answer in itself. “She was carrying some Revolutionary War documents in a metal box. I brought them with us on the ambulance but—” They knew the rest.

“You’ve got a problem, pal,” Scott said as the others exchanged meaningful looks. “No name. No ID. You don’t even know where they took her.”

“You could take out an ad in the paper,” Ann suggested. “If those papers are valuable, somebody’s bound to know about them and see it.”

“What you need is a plate number,” Scott the ex-cop said. “If you had that I could run a trace for you.”

Mark reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper and slid it across the table toward Scott. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

 
To Kate’s surprise she was able to convince both her mother and her daughter that she could manage without them for one night and persuaded them to go home a little after five p.m.

Gwynn got all teary when they were saying good-bye. “Be happy for me,” she whispered in Kate’s ear as they hugged. “I know what I’m doing is right.”

Kate hugged her back, but the words Gwynn wanted to hear wouldn’t come. “Don’t forget to call Aidan O’Malley,” she said instead. “He’s not going to hold your job forever.”

She regretted her comment as soon as it passed her lips. Gwynn’s slender body stiffened in her arms and Kate felt a wall rise between them.

Maeve shook her head in obvious disbelief. Kate didn’t blame her. Of all the things she could have said to her daughter, all the words of wisdom or love or comfort she could have offered, she had opted for the practical with a side order of implied criticism.
Better hold on to your waitress job, honey, because Fisherman Andy will never earn enough money to support you both.

They had had their differences over the years. What mother and daughter hadn’t? But she had never felt the sense of isolation that she felt right now.

For the first time since her heart attack, Kate was alone, and she settled back down against the pillows.

Sleeping in the middle of the day was still an alien concept. She envied people who could shut out the world and nap while the sun was shining. She flipped through the stack of books and magazines on her nightstand, but nothing caught her interest. Judge Judy was dispensing rough justice on one of the local television stations, but she wasn’t in the mood for battling families and their operatic confrontations. She had had enough of that already today.

She looked at the clock. The evening crush of visitors was still an hour away. Paul had been there every night, driving all the way down from Manhattan through rush-hour traffic. Her assistant, Sonia; her accountant, Liz; Max the refinisher; Haoyin from across the street; Lydia, the clockmaker; Cookie Moore, the fiber artist from Clinton; even Marilyn Perrone, who had tried to put her out of business last year and wasn’t the least bit apologetic about it: they all made it their business to turn room 405 into Party Central.

She wasn’t a big fan of early evening. Everyone rushing around, heading home, heading out, hooking up with friends and lovers, planning the night ahead. It was the only time of day when she ever felt lonely, when the choices she had made didn’t fit quite as well as they did the other twenty-three hours of the day.

It had been different when Gwynn was little and there had been all of the chaos and drama of after-school activities, making supper, supervising homework and bath time, signing permission slips, making costumes, sitting by the window trying to pretend she wasn’t waiting up for her daughter to come home from a date. She had been secretly glad when Gwynn decided against going away to school and opted for Rutgers instead. Not that she dreaded an empty nest, but there was something to be said for delaying the inevitable as long as you could.

French Kiss was her top priority now, and the hard work and long hours were paying greater dividends than she had ever imagined. She couldn’t wait to get back to the shop and start unpacking all of those boxes and crates she’d brought back from England. It would be like Christmas all over again.