Kat's Nine Lives Page 5

  “It’s okay. Your father has given me a charming account of the house’s history.”

  Kat wrapped her arms around Wendy in a warm hug. Acutely aware of Clyde’s presence, Wendy could not truly savor the feel of Kat pressed against her. Her eyes closed, and she breathed in Kat’s subtle perfume, a sweet floral scent that suited her perfectly.

  To her embarrassment, Wendy’s phone buzzed in her front pocket. Kat nudged her hip and waggled her eyebrows. “Happy to see me?”

  Wendy hid the blush that rose to her cheeks by checking the message. Cory, of course, with a text asking whether Kat was wearing work clothes, date clothes, or no clothes made her blush even harder. “Time to check the oven,” she said as a diversion.

  Father and daughter went ahead. Kat climbed the back steps first, but Clyde stood for a moment. Wendy felt like he was sizing her up. She stood a little taller, wondering if he had read something in the hug she and Kat had shared. Was he the kind of person who supported gay people in theory but freaked if his own child turned out to be gay? Instead of delivering a warning, Clyde bowed slightly and once again extended his hand, ushering Wendy inside.

  There she read her thermometer, impressed that she was only about five degrees lower than she wanted. “Do you mind if I mark the oven with a Sharpie?”

  “Do as you wish,” Clyde answered.

  Kat startled Wendy when she placed a hand on her shoulder and fingered her V-neck tee. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of your slacks and pressed shirts. This is nice. I’m going to change too, if you don’t mind.”

  “You’ll never change,” Clyde inserted, a suggestive smile on his lips.

  Wendy was left to puzzle over what that could mean when Kat disappeared up the stairs with a bottled soda she’d pulled from the fridge. Wendy positioned her two pans in the oven and tried to avoid making eye contact with Kat’s father. Thankfully, Kat returned quickly, having traded her skirt for pink sweats and a light long-sleeved gray shirt she was pushing up at the sleeves.

  “It already smells so good in here,” Kat said.

  “You said cheesy is good, so I put together a small appetizer. Artichoke, mayonnaise and parmesan cheese. It won’t take long to get bubbly, and then I’ll put in the pasta and chicken.”

  “I have a new flavor of lemonade,” Kat offered.

  “Or I brought some artisan beer.”

  Kat pulled one of each from the fridge and used a church-key magnet to open them. She handed the lemonade to Wendy and took a sip of the beer. Kat made a face and passed the beer to Wendy. “Would you have hurt feelings if I had my black cherry lemonade?”

  Wendy sampled Kat’s lemonade, then handed her the bottle. “Would it hurt yours if I prefer my beer?”

  “Not at all. It’s nice to know you’ll never drink my last hard lemonade.”

  Wendy toasted her comment, enjoying that Kat felt comfortable drinking from the bottle after she had.

  “Evan and Jeremy sure had a lot of fun at your tasting. It sounds like a great menu.”

  “You already know the menu?” Wendy was surprised.

  “They were excited to share every detail. First Evan and then Jeremy.”

  “I noticed that each one puts in his two cents. They both were talking about a cottage they want to decorate. I couldn’t picture it.”

  “You didn’t show her the stone cottage?” Clyde said, reminding Wendy that he was watching their exchange. How did Kat survive living under such parental scrutiny?

  Wendy pulled her appetizer out of the oven and slipped in the pasta and chicken dishes to bake. She placed the dip in the middle of a platter, surrounded it with thin crackers and carried it to the table. Clyde helped himself and hmmmed his approval. “We should invite Travis and Millie to join us.”

  “Travis isn’t home from practice yet,” Kat said, “but Mom would probably like some.” She dipped a cracker but did not scoop an artichoke as her father had. Wendy couldn’t read her expression, but instead of having another cracker, Kat scooted behind her dad to grab a plate, then scooped a hearty amount of dip onto multiple crackers. “I’m going to take this up to my mom. Then I’ll show you the cottage.”

  Another awkward silence. Wendy almost wished she and Kat had just planned to carry her simple bean and cheese burritos out to the tortoise yard again. The tortoises seemed much easier to please.

  * * *

  Poor Wendy. When Kat returned she looked as uncomfortable as a boy waiting for his prom date. Kat would have laughed out loud, but she knew it would hurt her father’s feelings and confuse Wendy.

  She grabbed her hand. “How long until dinner?”

  “Half hour?”

  “I’m going to finish the tour,” Kat said to her father. “Mom wants more of the dip.”

  Once they were outside, Wendy said, “Does your mother ever come downstairs?”

  “Only when we run a fire drill.”

  “I can’t tell if you’re serious.”

  “We don’t actually run fire drills,” Kat answered. Wendy looked so startled, Kat mercifully answered the question more truthfully. “My mom is agoraphobic. She gets overwhelmed easily. When it’s really bad, she stays upstairs for days at a time.”

  “Is that something…recent?” Wendy asked.

  “Nope. She’s always been. When I was younger, it wasn’t as bad. We could go grocery shopping. By the time I was learning how to cook, my dad and I went shopping, and year by year, her circle shrank. Sometimes she has a burst, like when Travis was born, but most of the time she’s happy to be in her room.”

  “How does she eat? She depends on you and your dad to take food up?”

  “She has her boxes of Pop-Tarts. She gets by.”

  Wendy started to say something but covered it with a cough.

  “I know. Not the healthiest. To be fair, she usually has some bananas up there, too. And most of the time she comes down for lunch and dinner.”

  They walked side by side on the lush grass, past the swing, toward the hedge at the back of the yard. Kat guided Wendy to a tiny stone path next to the pool fence. Wendy gasped as they rounded the corner. Kat loved showing off the cottage, especially when people reacted as Wendy had.

  “You didn’t say anything about this last time.”

  “I got distracted,” Kat answered.

  “Considering everything you just said about your mom, I get it.”

  Kat was happy to let Wendy think her mom was the distraction even though it was really Wendy’s presence. She’d had to take a minute at the top of the stairs before she gave her mother a fresh soda. And today, Wendy’s hug had felt unexpectedly intimate, and she wasn’t accustomed to seeing her in casual attire. What had compelled her to sample the soft material of Wendy’s T-shirt? The action had flooded Kat with the image of Wendy reaching a hand over her shoulder and pulling the garment over her head.

  Standing by the cottage, she feared Wendy would see and comment on her blush. Alone with Wendy, she was surprised to find herself imagining what it would be like to slide her hands under Wendy’s tee.

  “Can we go in?”

  Wendy’s words startled Kat. “Of course.” She squeezed by on the narrow path, brushing Wendy lightly. She smelled sweet, like a bakery. Lightheaded, Kat wobbled on the path.

  Wendy took hold of her elbow. “Whoa. Too much hard lemonade and not enough appetizer?”

  “The stones are uneven,” Kat lied.

  “You didn’t care for the appetizer.” Her hand stayed warm and inviting on Kat’s arm.

  Kat had hoped Wendy hadn’t noticed her reaction. “I don’t like green things very much.”

  “It was white.”

  “Not the artichoke.”

  “I think you’re the first person I’ve met who considers artichoke from a jar a vegetable.”

  “It is.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s a thistle.”

  “That sounds disgusting. Why would anyone want to eat a thistle?” Kat asked.

  “Beca
use they’re delicious. Nobody ever ate an artichoke for the nutrients.”

  “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings.” That was the last thing Kat wanted to do. She turned the antique iron doorknob and ducked through the doorway. She loved the smell of the stone and cool earth. The thickness of the walls insulated the small rectangle from the desert heat even in the dead of summer. As a child, before her parents had installed air-conditioning in the house, Kat would curl up here on one of the folded futons and read hour upon hour of her summer away.

  “As long as you’re honest, we’re good. I have thick skin.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Wendy bent to try the door of the tiny potbellied stove in the corner. She touched her way around the space, lifting the candle snuffer, opening the doors of a small wooden cupboard. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “I don’t do well with honesty.” Kat liked the way Wendy kept talking as she explored the place, and she tried not to let her eyes linger on how good she looked in her faded jeans.

  “You’re telling me you lie?”

  Kat almost said no and then had to laugh at herself. “I don’t lie, I just have a bad habit of not telling the truth.”

  “What kinds of untruths are we talking about? Do you even live here?”

  “Of course I live here. You’ve seen my parents and my son.”

  “I’ve seen your dad and Travis. Your mom I’ll see if there happens to be a fire drill?”

  “She’ll probably come down for dinner tonight.”

  “So…” Wendy looked like she was trying to do mental math. “You lie when you get uncomfortable?”

  “Or to save people’s feelings. Instead of saying I don’t want to go out, I’ll say I have to drive Travis to practice. Or if I don’t get to the donut shop on my way home, I’ll tell my mom they were out of the kind of donut she likes.”

  “What if you didn’t like my haircut?”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ve always loved how you style your hair.”

  “Somehow I don’t trust you anymore.”

  “I was honest about your appetizer,” Kat pointed out. “You’re different. With you, I can tell the truth.”

  “Why with me?”

  “At the reunion, you said you were disappointed in how little everyone had changed. You said you had hoped that twenty years would have given people time to learn to be themselves.”

  “You heard that?”

  “Of course. I was stuck at my table where my so-called friends were lying about how good it was to see each other. Air-kissing like they were still besties just to save face when they actually despise each other. You and your…” Kat hesitated. She knew that Wendy had been there with her girlfriend. Why did she find it so difficult to say the word?

  “Girlfriend.”

  “Yes. You two were having the only honest conversation in the room. About how everyone looked old and unhappy. You said that the whole night was a competition that you refused to join. I realized I was doing the same thing, like life was some sort of game where being married beats being single and having kids beats that, but only if your kids do ballet or karate.”

  “Like I said that night, I don’t compete,” Wendy said. “I’m glad I never tried. All that sounds exhausting!”

  “It is exhausting. Almost as much as keeping track of lies you’ve told.”

  Wendy laughed. “You say that like you’ve told some doozies.”

  Kat looked at the two glass windows cut into the door and felt a wave of sadness crash over her. “Do lies of omission count?” she whispered.

  * * *

  The quaver in Kat’s voice told Wendy that what had started as fun banter had hit something far more serious. The sun had dipped low enough that the cottage had become dark, making it difficult to read Kat’s expression, but her whisper conveyed a tone heavier than Wendy had ever heard from Kat. Until this conversation, she had believed Kat was the most genuine person she knew. She hadn’t really believed Kat when she said she lied, but now she couldn’t help but wonder what those doozies were. Unfortunately, she sensed that this was not the time to explore.

  “You know what this place needs?” Wendy asked, gently redirecting their conversation. “Lights. You should hang small white Christmas-tree lights in here, along the rectangle of the roof. That way people could see the candy.”

  “What candy?” Kat sounded confused.

  “Evan and Jeremy said it felt like a house right out of ‘Hansel and Gretel.’ Don’t you see a multi-leveled counter here with little dishes of candy? Guests could assemble their own party favors.”

  “What a fun idea,” Kat said. She sounded like herself again.

  “As long as we’re getting electricity out here, we might as well string lights on the outside.” Wendy stepped outside the cottage, and the darkness that had seemed to wash over Kat stayed inside. Out on the stone path, her smile looked more relaxed. “We could loop the lights along the walk. That way, people won’t trip on the uneven stones.”

  Kat smirked at her. “It’s a marvelous idea, but I’m not sure how we’d run the electricity all the way out here. That’s a lot of work and would involve climbing up on the roof. I’m not the one who…”

  She stopped abruptly, but Wendy had heard her. “Not the one who what?”

  “I’m afraid of heights,” Kat amended.

  “I could help you hang them. I’m not afraid of heights.”

  Kat took two full breaths before she said, “Dinner is probably ready, isn’t it?”

  Wendy wanted to press Kat’s obvious skirting of the issue about the lights. She wasn’t sure what compelled her to spend her spare time helping her help Jeremy and Evan, but she wanted to know what had dampened Kat’s usual vivacity. Kat’s elusiveness engaged Wendy’s stubbornness. “There are some loose threads of conversation here.” She looked around as if they hung on the bushes like spider webs.

  “Leave them here. We’ll pick them back up when you come back to hang the lights.”

  “When would that be?”

  “Next week? Same time?”

  Buoyed, Wendy followed Kat back to the house. It felt like an unspoken promise.

  The herbs and spices she had rubbed on the chicken breasts had filled the kitchen with a rich savory aroma. On the other side of the range by the kitchen table three people stood in a huddle. Was she being oversensitive, or had their hushed conversation come to a halt when she and Kat entered? She recognized the men as Kat’s father and son, and assumed the woman was her mother. Loose-fitting black cotton pants and a billowing long-sleeved purple shirt covered her rotund frame. Wendy was surprised by her size and searched for the resemblance to Kat. Though her hair was considerably shorter than Kat’s, it had the same volume and luster.

  The extended silence became uncomfortable, and Wendy was just about to introduce herself to Kat’s mother when Kat said, “Mom! I didn’t expect you to come down until dinner was ready.”

  “But I had to. Your father and Travis couldn’t decide whether to take the food out of the oven or send out a search party. Or both.”

  “Wendy said we were eating in a half hour, and a half hour had passed,” Clyde said, smiling widely enough to expose his crooked eyetooth. “But one doesn’t want to presume.”

  “If she said a half hour, I don’t see why you couldn’t have taken it out,” Millie said.

  “Every time I try to take the initiative, I end up not doing it correctly and once again get criticized. It seems I can never do anything to anyone’s satisfaction which is why I attempted to consult with you.”

  Kat held up her hands, silencing the bickering. “Does the chicken need to come out of the oven?” she asked.

  “Yes, sorry!” Wendy said hoping food would diffuse the growing tension. “Do you have a trivet, or shall I set them on the range?”

  “In the drawer on your left, there is a wooden trivet, but it is rather small. If you give me a moment, I might be able to locate the wrought iron…�
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  Millie interrupted him. “She didn’t ask for an inventory of the kitchen.”

  “On the range is perfect. We never have formal sit-down dinners around here.” Kat’s tone was clipped. Wendy glanced at Kat who glared at her parents with a look that would put a toddler in its place.

  “But what a treat,” Millie said. “The house smells like heaven. And that artichoke dip! I’m going to need that every day.”

  Kat’s son looked stricken. “What about your donuts?”

  “This was so much better than donuts.” She grasped the cane that had been leaning against the table and slowly walked over to the cooking space. She extended her free hand to Wendy. “Hi. I’m Kat’s mom, Millie.”

  Wendy removed the oven mitt and took her hand. It was soft and strangely papery.

  “And I’m Travis. Kat’s kid. Is that mac-n-cheese?”

  She took her hand back trying not to overthink why Kat’s mom had held on so long. “Kat said everyone is a big fan of cheese. The foil packets have seasoned chicken breasts in them.”

  Millie smiled coyly and looked first at Kat and then at Wendy. Kat launched another glare at her mother, giving Wendy the distinct sense that there was a silent conversation happening with the family. There was no way she could sit through a whole dinner with Kat looking as uncomfortable as she did. She had to find a way out.

  “I also brought a spinach and walnut salad with a raspberry vinaigrette. Are you the only one who doesn’t eat greens or should I just take that back with me?”

  “Are you not dining with us?” Clyde asked.

  “Not tonight, I fear. Your oven passed the test with flying colors. I hope…”

  “But your dishes,” Clyde said.

  “Stop interrupting her!” Millie chastised.

  “It’s fine. I hope you enjoy the meal, and don’t worry about the dishes. I know where you live. And I’ll be back next week, apparently.” She gathered a few bags from the counter by the oven. “Very nice to meet you all.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Kat said.

  “You don’t have to,” Wendy said, not wanting to talk about her awkward exit.

  “I’ve parked you in. Let me grab my keys.” Wendy could hear the relief in her voice. “We can go out the front.”