Katia's Promise (18 page)

“Katia, the museum walls were finished this week. The masons will be bricking through most of December, if it doesn’t get much colder. I’m very serious about my position in all of this.”

“I know you are, Austin. I’m not telling you to abandon the museum.”

“Then, what are you saying?”

“Simply that I want you to broaden your scope. Let’s just say that your great-grandfather didn’t actually design anything. But he was there, Austin. He chose to work with inventors, trying to build cars that could race in the Indianapolis 500. Only the visionaries of the day would risk their lives and futures on a couple of immigrants who clearly were not businessmen, who went bankrupt, who were always scrambling for investors. Frankly, it’s your great-grandfather’s loyalty that I see. He never gave up on them until they closed down for good. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” he said quietly, slipping the rag into the back pocket of his overalls. “Like I said, that’s when he moved his family here.”

“And what did he do here?”

“He built his auto-parts company.”

Nodding, Katia took another step forward. “That’s right. I bet he started with no more than a secretary and an associate or two at first.”

“My grandmother did the accounting, typing, answered the phones.”

“Ah.” Katia’s eyes brightened. “So there’s another unsung hero in your story.”

Austin held up his hand to stop her. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m trying to show you that heroes aren’t only the guys who go through a war with guns blazing or whip out a scalpel and save lives. Many heroes—the ones who built this country—are quiet men. Men like Ambrose, who believed in their mentors. Believed that what little they could do or were allowed to do in their jobs mattered. A hundred years ago, men risked their lives every day to build skyscrapers. I worked for a decade in a skyscraper in Chicago, and every single day I thanked those men, long dead now, who worked so hard so that I had a nice place to do my job. And that made me think of my father, a Russian immigrant like many of those workers, who made so many sacrifices for me.”

Austin remained silent, but she could tell from the intensity in his eyes that he was listening to her. Really listening.

She continued, “I’ve never been a gossip, Austin, and to my knowledge neither is Mrs. Beabots. Apparently, she keeps secrets better than anyone I’ve ever met. She didn’t intend to hurt you, and I have her word to you that she will never say anything that you don’t want said about your family. Her own family history is her business. She only wanted to share it with you. She thought it would bring you closer together, not split you apart.”

“I understand that, Katia. I’m not blaming her. I’ve always liked her a lot. Sometimes I even thought she empathized with me when my parents were giving me a hard time.”

Katia’s voice softened. “She told me she was always fond of you.”

“I guess I felt that.”

“Austin...” Katia moved very close and put her hand on his cheek. “I hope you understand what I’m saying. I think you’re one of those silent heroes. I think what you’ve done, taking over the family business and running it all these years, even though you would rather have been playing tennis or making a living trading in antique cars, is worthy of admiration and respect. You didn’t close the plant, and you could have. You’re loyal to your workers. Because of you, I met Melanie, and she’s probably one of the best assistants I’ve ever had. Jack and I talking about making her a sales associate. So you see? Even if your great-grandfather didn’t actually invent some part of the Duesenberg engine—or even a headlight—that doesn’t diminish what he did. He was there. He stayed right to the very end.”

Austin placed his hand over hers and removed it from his cheek. He attempted a smile, but it fell quickly from his face.

“Thanks. But the problem is that even on the brochures I printed up for the presentation, which you attended—”

“Crashed,” she interjected lightly, hoping to brighten his dour mood.

He ignored her joke. “On that brochure, I made a point that my great-grandfather was instrumental in several breakthroughs that helped to create the Model J supercar.”

Katia thought for a long moment. “Did your father ever tell you what he did specifically for that car?”

“The chassis and suspension were conventional. Nothing new there. But the SJ had a forced induction that raised the power and helped increase the speed from 116 miles per hour to 129. That was an enormous breakthrough back then.”

“And so when your father said that, you understood that it was your great-grandfather who’d been responsible, not Fred.”

“I did,” he replied glumly. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “So you see? I was right. People will think I’m an idiot.”

“Stop saying that! You’re making me nuts. Okay?”

“Look, this isn’t your problem. It’s my family and my mistake.”

Katia felt dismissed, just like she used to when Hanna wanted her out of the way. Katia despised this feeling, and she’d learned over time to beat it back with fiery anger.

“Get over yourself, Austin. Don’t come at me with your retreat taps blowing. It’s simple. You dig through all those papers in the attic and find what facts you can. Then you mount the best ones and display them. I know you’ve got old photos of your great-grandfather standing with Fred and August Duesenberg next to one of their racing cars. Play down everything except what you can substantiate.

“You told me you wanted a museum here to preserve history. Let it be just that. Make a room in the museum that allows other families to present information about their own heritage, their family or associates who did noteworthy things. You could have one room dedicated to local sports alone. Use your brain, Austin.”

Suddenly, Austin was smiling broadly.

“What?”

“I forgot about the fire you carry around in that belly of yours. You really come alive when there’s a fight, don’t you?”

Katia exhaled through her nose, her inner heat dissipating. “That’s true.”

“See? That’s what I envy about you. You’re so passionate, Katia. You fight for your job and your clients, but you’re also willing to take on challenges for me. Why is that?” He moved closer to her so that they were only a breath apart.

His eyes searched hers.

“Because I don’t want to see you hurt anymore, Austin. Maybe it’s my way of making up for the past when I was the one who did the hurting.”

“Maybe.”

She couldn’t tear her eyes from his face. For years, she and Austin had lived in a world where this was all that existed. They’d practically thought each other’s thoughts. Now things were different.

“So you’re just balancing out the karma, coming to my aid like this.”

“I guess.”

“You don’t know?”

She could tell him that she was falling in love with him again, but then she’d be throwing away her career. Katia felt as if she was being sliced in two. Either choice left her with a half-life. She wanted it all.

And what of Austin? He was a man consumed with his family’s past. His attention to his car collection teetered on obsession. How would she fit into that world? Austin remembered the young girl she’d been, but did he care to get to know the person she’d become? And if he did, could he ever really commit to her, especially since he apparently didn’t completely trust her? They were adults now, not naive children. Did he feel anything for her that was true and real?

Katia believed in insurance against risk. She preached it every day, but this gamble was much too precarious.

“I’ve always been your friend, Austin. Even when I left and hurt you so badly, in the end, it was the right thing to do. I would have ruined your life.”

His steady gaze wavered as he tilted his head back slightly. “I don’t know about that.”

“Well, I’m sure. Waiting around for you to finish school would have made me even more needy and clingy than I already was. I couldn’t stand being away from you. We would have ended up married—think how young we were! Our mothers would have been livid. We would never have had a chance to grow as individuals. One or both of us would have had to give something up—education, our careers—to stay together. You would have resented me, and knowing my temper, I would have picked fights with you daily. I would have destroyed us.”

Austin stepped back. “Well, that’s really bleak.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I’ve always liked my version better,” he replied longingly.

Rolling her eyes and clucking her tongue, she said, “Maybe that’s the real fissure between us, Austin. I deal with facts. Stats. Charts and graphs. You reminisce. You fantasize about the not quite real. Then you live there...or here.” She gestured toward the house. “Alone.”

Austin retreated from her as if she’d thrown ice water into his face. He took his hands out of his pockets, turned away and closed the Bugatti hood. “I’m done,” he said.

“That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry. I just meant—”

“Oh, you said it fine,” he replied. “But it’s nearly midnight. You’d better go.”

“Happily,” she shot back, taking a pair of gloves out of her coat pocket. “Looks to me like my assessment was dead-on. Tell you what, Austin. If you ever want a real friend, call me. Maybe you don’t like what I’m saying, but that’s what friends are for. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Katia let herself out. The snow was coming down in large, fluffy flakes that clung to her hair. She lifted the gate latch and walked down the driveway, her boots leaving clear prints in the snow. There was no wind to disturb the still, cold night, but Katia’s angry heat dispelled the chill.

Driving away, she realized that she was just as guilty of retreat as Austin was.

But in all wars, especially those waged in the name of love, there was time to regroup. Katia could only hope this was just that time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

B
LACK
F
RIDAY
CAME
and went without Katia visiting a single retail store. Saturday dragged on without a call from Austin and no answers to her texts or emails. She’d tried to be light and funny in her messages, but he was pulling his turtle act again.

On Sunday, after church services at St. Mark’s, Katia drove Mrs. Beabots, Timmy and Annie back home while Sarah and Luke remained at the church to help organize the Christmas decoration committee.

Mrs. Beabots promised to watch Timmy and Annie for a half hour until Sarah came back home. “I suppose we could start by decorating my Christmas tree,” Mrs. Beabots said to the children.

“You have a tree already?” Annie asked.

“It’s being delivered by the Indian Lake nursery. They put in a tree stand for me and put it up in the big window in the living room.”

“How big?” Timmy asked.

“Oh, the usual. Ten feet,” Mrs. Beabots said proudly.

Katia’s mouth fell open. “You have a ten-foot tree every year?”

Both children were clapping their hands and high-fiving each other.

“It’s gonna be so cool!” Timmy said.

“I thought that this year we would make gingerbread men and put yarn through their heads and hang them on the tree,” Mrs. Beabots said.

“That’s sounds lovely,” Katia offered, thinking wistfully of the small tree her mother had decorated for the two of them and put in their room at the McCreary house. “And you decorate this tree by yourself? No offense, but you must need a tall ladder.”

“Oh, good heavens, no, dear. Lester MacDougal comes over and puts all the lights and ornaments on. I’ll let the children hang the cookies and some candy canes. They’ll love that.”

“Oh, yes!” The children said in unison.

Katia pulled into Mrs. Beabots’s driveway. The snow had all melted, and the sun had warmed the chrysanthemum blossoms. She turned off the car and everyone climbed out.

“So what kind of tree does Sarah have for you?” Katia asked the kids.

Mrs. Beabots laughed. “I don’t know why they get so excited about
my
tree. Sarah’s tree was fourteen feet tall last year, and it was a mass of all her old ornaments, Luke’s ornaments and cookies the children made. It was a vision. She told me she had over two thousand lights on that tree.”

“Two thousand!” Katia’s eyes grew wide.

Mrs. Beabots led the way to the back door and they all filed inside, shucking their coats. Mrs. Beabots had put a pot roast, onions, carrots, celery and potatoes in a roaster and had started the oven before they left for church. The aroma of the cooking dinner was heavenly as they entered the warm, cozy kitchen.

Timmy spotted a glass-domed cake plate filled with cupcakes. “Are those from Miss Maddie?”

“Yes, they are, Timmy. Would you like one?”

“Yes, please!”

Annie frowned. “He’s not supposed to have treats before Sunday dinner. Me, neither.”

Katia watched as light faded from Timmy’s face. “What if you two split the cupcake and drank a glass of milk with it? They’re small, and I don’t think your mom would be too upset about that.”

Annie calculated the proposition for a long moment. “We’re having chicken and peas. And I’m hungry for both. So I guess a half a cupcake would be okay.”

“Yes!” Timmy shouted. “Can we have the chocolate one?”

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Beabots replied, taking the dome off the plate.

“I’ll get the milk,” Katia said. She took out two plates and two small glasses from the cupboard.

Mrs. Beabots got the children settled at the small kitchen table near the back window so they could watch for Luke’s truck.

She turned to Katia. “I saw that mind of yours whirling a minute ago. What are you scheming?”

“We have to get Austin’s house decorated for the Candlelight Tour next weekend. Right?”

“Well, yes.”

“When I spoke with Daisy, she said Wednesday would be best. Austin will be at work, and she can help us. Sarah will have half a day off. Between the four of us, we can get the downstairs decorated in one afternoon. But I didn’t plan for the tree. Hanna used to have a lovely tree in the living room window.”

“I remember. And Austin hasn’t put up a tree since she died.”

“That’s because he’s never here over the holidays.”

“Is he going to be home this year?” Mrs. Beabots asked.

After my last argument with him? Probably not.
“He hasn’t said. But I’m thinking that it’s time he makes some changes. Starting with a live Christmas tree. Do you have the number for the nursery?”

* * *

K
ATIA
CALLED
A
USTIN
’
S
house and got his voice mail, which she expected. She hoped he was only pouting and not so angry with her that they couldn’t get back to being friends.

Or more.

Don’t even go there, Katia. Don’t make trouble you can’t handle. One thing at a time. One day at a time.

“Austin. If you don’t answer me, I’ll break into your house again. That is, assuming you haven’t changed the locks. So look. Cops or no cops, I’m coming over. I have a surprise for you.”

The Indian Lake Nursery delivery truck pulled up to Austin’s house just as Katia turned into his driveway in her newly purchased silver Buick sedan. She supposed Austin would sneer at such an ordinary car, but it was only two years old and had low mileage. She purposefully didn’t park on the street; if Austin attempted a getaway, she wanted to block him in.

“Hey, guys!” She waved to the driver and his helper as she withdrew several shopping bags from her car trunk. “I’ll be right with you.”

She walked quickly to the door and pressed the bell twice. The melodious and preposterous tune played loud enough to be heard outside. “He needs to change this thing,” she muttered, rubbing her chilled hands together.

The door swung open. Austin was wearing tan wool dress pants and a navy V-neck pullover with a white shirt underneath. Though his mouth was set, his eyes were welcoming.

She took that as a good sign. “Hi. You got my message.”

“Why must you insist on giving me no choice about seeing you?”

“Did you change the locks?” she asked pointedly.

“No.”

“Then, you want to see me. I’m here on community business.”

“Excuse me?”

She hooked her thumb back over her shoulder. “They’re here to deliver your Christmas tree.”

“I don’t want a tree.”

“Sorry. You committed to this. I have exactly one week to get this house ready for the Candlelight Tour.” She smiled at his blank expression. “You forgot.”

“I did. I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t forget about the tour, just that it’s coming up so fast.”

“Right.” She waved the guy in, then she turned back to Austin. “I know where it goes. You and I have furniture to move. Let’s get to it.”

Katia barged past Austin and headed straight to the living room. She placed her shopping bags on the floor, took off her coat and flung it over a wing chair. Then she grabbed the framed pictures off the end table that sat between two French chairs in the middle of the window.

She looked back at Austin. “Don’t just stand there. Move these chairs to that far corner, where your mother used to put them at Christmas.”

Austin shook his head, chuckling to himself, and easily hoisted the chair. Then he moved the brass and glass lamp and the end table.

The space was cleared just in time for the deliverymen to bring in the tree. Austin grabbed two black garbage bags from the kitchen to protect the wood floor, and Katia positioned the stand she’d bought on top of them. The guys from the nursery cut the jute ties around the branches, fluffed out the limbs and spun the tree until the fullest side was facing the room.

“If you have lights, we can string them for you,” the taller of the two men said.

“I’ll put the lights on,” Austin said before Katia had a chance to reply. “Thanks anyway.” He took out his wallet and handed the men a tip. “Thanks for your help. It’s a great tree.”

Austin walked the men to the door while Katia began digging boxes of lights out of her shopping bags.

“What’s all this? We have lights.”

She cocked her head. “Oh, really? And you think that after a decade plus they’ll still work? Fat chance. I bought clear lights just like your mother used to have.”

“I like the colored ones,” he countered.

“I thought you might. I bought ten strings of those, too.”

“You did not,” he bantered. He peered into the bag.

“I also got a step-touch surge protector so that the lights are easy to turn off and on.” She held up a small square box. “If that’s too much trouble for you, though, here’s a timer that will turn them on at dusk and off at ten.”

“You thought of everything,” he said appreciatively.

“I tried to.” She smiled at him as she stood and handed him a strand of lights. “If we do this together, we should have the tree lit in less than an hour. Then we can get the boxes from the attic.”

Austin plugged the surge protector into the wall and attached the first string of lights from the box. “Look at that, would you?”

“What?”

“The lights are so...well, merry. Pardon the pun. And I’d forgotten how uplifting the smell of a fresh pine tree can be. Reminds me of...”

“When we were kids?”

“Yeah, it does.” He looked away from her and back to his work.

* * *

K
ATIA
WAS
BUSY
unraveling the lights and chattering away about the things she remembered from her childhood Christmases in this house. Austin was only half listening; Katia’s voice was a familiar sound that had always comforted and befriended him.

Ever since Thanksgiving, he’d been acting like a spoiled brat. Arrogant and selfish. At the time, he didn’t care if he hurt Katia’s feelings. He rationalized that he was licking his wounds.

But Katia had overlooked all his bad behavior. She’d called, texted and emailed him. He’d read all her messages, despite the long hours he’d spent on his cars, trying to kill the sense of betrayal he felt from his own family.

Maybe Katia was right. Maybe he was guilty of focusing on the wrong things. A true benefactor only cared that the lives of the people receiving his gifts were elevated, illuminated or educated. In the end, it probably didn’t matter to anyone but Austin if his great-grandfather was an inventor or not. He’d started a business in Indian Lake that had employed people for generations. That was fact.

Though Austin’s mind whirled with thoughts about his ancestors, it was the sound of Katia’s voice that broke through and brought him back to the present.

“I like to bring the lights deeper into the tree on the big branches, so the tree is lit from within,” she was saying.

Together, they worked their way up the tree, stringing lights and changing an ordinary spruce into something magical. Austin hadn’t decorated a Christmas tree since his mother died. In fact, he didn’t remember decorating one since the last Christmas that Katia had lived in this house.

Katia had told him she wanted to be his friend. She was doing what a real friend would do. He knew she hadn’t needed to go to all this trouble to buy precisely the kind of Norwegian spruce his mother always loved. She’d remembered that he liked colored lights, not the designer white ones that usually graced his family tree. And she’d come here tonight, after allowing him a couple days to cool down and think about everything she’d said.

Katia had some kind of sixth sense when it came to him. He would have been creeped out if anyone else knew him so well, but since it was Katia, Austin didn’t mind in the least. He liked the way she read his moods and always appeared to come at his problems from a new perspective. She was logical and saw things without the “family filter” he used much too often.

Maybe Katia had been right when she’d accused him of retreating from his problems too often. He’d done that ever since Katia had left town. But that was a kid’s reaction to life’s problems. It wasn’t what adults did. Katia had proved that to him. The more he slid back into his cave, the more she showed up at the door. Or broke in.

He was lucky to be able to count Katia as a real friend. She was good for him.

But was he good for her? He knew she needed his business. That was obvious. She’d also needed him to forgive her. She’d told him that she wanted to move forward with her life, and she couldn’t do that without his forgiveness. Though they’d crossed that bridge, he wondered if lingering guilt caused Katia to be this attentive to him.

And if it was just residual guilt, then the relationship they had was based on need, not want.

“Austin, did you hear anything I just said?”

“Sorry, I was concentrating on the lights. What?”

“I asked if you wanted to do something different with your tree. We could string popcorn and cranberries and decorate it with candy canes and gingerbread men instead of your mother’s priceless ornaments. I bet Daisy wouldn’t mind making some cookies and putting yarn through them for us.”

“That’s...really old-fashioned. Do people even do that anymore?”

“Mrs. Beabots said she does a bit of that for Annie and Timmy. It got me thinking. Maybe we should make a childhood tree.” She looked up at the dainty multicolored lights. “Something for both of us,” she whispered as if she hadn’t meant for him to hear it.

But he had.

Suddenly, Austin realized that the tree was a symbol of new beginnings for both of them. Perhaps Katia could put all her guilt aside. He had a houseful of ghosts, and he’d lived with them forever. Maybe it was time for him to do what Katia had suggested and start asking if he wanted more for himself than to build monuments to the past.

“We’ll call it a sugarplum tree, and it will be perfect,” Austin replied.