over the table as if to reach for him. Being Cate.
Mike knew Tom was probably on her mind. He was the only subject that threw Cate. If something happened to one of her children or in her work, she dealt with it. If it was really bad, she'd talk about it.
When it came to Tom, she was close-lipped. She thought she was being loyal, he supposed. He knew the disease was grating on her. He knew Tom's behavior was confusing. And he knew she worried about how much she was co-dependent on Tom after years of marriage.
In truth, Cate wasn't dependent at all. She'd survived the disease and remained friends with Tom. She'd raised their children with a confidence he hadn't expected−but it hadn't surprised him, either. She'd followed her path to a successful career that completed her. She gave back, something that inspired him. And she was loving to him and her hordes of other close friends.
She was well-rounded, with clear boundaries, because she knew herself well and knew what she wanted.
And she was beautiful. There was a spark about her that inspired him to want to care for her, as much as she would allow. He did little things around the edges of her life, things he didn't think she knew about.
He admired her strength. He loved her heart. He knew her smile.
He always had, Mike supposed. Cate was just... Cate .
And if she was hurting, it wasn't a dramatic plea for attention. There were some things she just didn't talk about, and Tom topped that list.
Mike leaned forward, as if in confidence. "Hey−"
Cate looked up at him, her blue eyes trusting.
"You gonna eat that?" Mike fork-wrestled a piece of her bacon closer to his side of the plate.
She pushed his fork away with her own, immediately at battle. "Gimme!"
His heart smiled then. She was already feeling a little bit better. "Want to go have some fun?" he asked.
"Yes." Cate knew he meant the bright, loud arcade that she loved so much. Mike was concerned about her, but she could use that. It meant he'd be more likely to let her win.
Chapter Twenty Four
After Mike slaughtered Cate in air hockey, he bought her ice cream. Wandering down the boardwalk, the pair embraced the comfortable silence that only good friends could share.
"I−" Cate started quietly.
Mike stopped, leaning against the steel railing, his back to the sea. His long legs were tossed out in front of him, inviting her closer. He pulled her toward him, lazily. "What?"
A dozen sentences slid into her mouth at once. I think Tom is gone. I don't think he's coming back. He's set them free for the holidays, though. What will I tell them? Is it my fault? Did I pick him and set them up for lifetime of hurt? She only whispered the last one.
Mike listened, his eyes sweeping over her face. "You're protecting them from the hurt PTSD has caused," he said finally. "You've taught them to be strong. You've modeled it. If you didn't pick him, you wouldn't have them."
"I'd have had Jennifer and Bobby, maybe," she said, looking down at the fat, wooden planks of the boardwalk, gray from time.
And now he understood.
He lifted her chin with his fist, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Catie," he told her, "there are no mistakes."
"Only lessons?" she whispered.
"Al and Nic are not lessons," Mike said gently. He tugged on her sweatshirt, pulling her closer still. Cate leaned her cheek against the warmth of his sweater, hearing his heartbeat, borrowing his strength. His arms encompassed her, the leather of his open jacket creaking even as it hid her face from the gentle wind that kicked up.
Chapter Twenty Five
Cate lifted her head, her eyes streaming.
It was morning, and the sun shone brightly through her kitchen windows. Mike was settled in his favorite place, the tall bar stool. Cate was chopping through thick onions for her famous French onion soup. She diced and sliced, preferring to use a thick knife rather than the food processor. Next to her extra-large cutting board, she melted butter in an extra-large skillet. The
Mike knew Tom was probably on her mind. He was the only subject that threw Cate. If something happened to one of her children or in her work, she dealt with it. If it was really bad, she'd talk about it.
When it came to Tom, she was close-lipped. She thought she was being loyal, he supposed. He knew the disease was grating on her. He knew Tom's behavior was confusing. And he knew she worried about how much she was co-dependent on Tom after years of marriage.
In truth, Cate wasn't dependent at all. She'd survived the disease and remained friends with Tom. She'd raised their children with a confidence he hadn't expected−but it hadn't surprised him, either. She'd followed her path to a successful career that completed her. She gave back, something that inspired him. And she was loving to him and her hordes of other close friends.
She was well-rounded, with clear boundaries, because she knew herself well and knew what she wanted.
And she was beautiful. There was a spark about her that inspired him to want to care for her, as much as she would allow. He did little things around the edges of her life, things he didn't think she knew about.
He admired her strength. He loved her heart. He knew her smile.
He always had, Mike supposed. Cate was just... Cate .
And if she was hurting, it wasn't a dramatic plea for attention. There were some things she just didn't talk about, and Tom topped that list.
Mike leaned forward, as if in confidence. "Hey−"
Cate looked up at him, her blue eyes trusting.
"You gonna eat that?" Mike fork-wrestled a piece of her bacon closer to his side of the plate.
She pushed his fork away with her own, immediately at battle. "Gimme!"
His heart smiled then. She was already feeling a little bit better. "Want to go have some fun?" he asked.
"Yes." Cate knew he meant the bright, loud arcade that she loved so much. Mike was concerned about her, but she could use that. It meant he'd be more likely to let her win.
Chapter Twenty Four
After Mike slaughtered Cate in air hockey, he bought her ice cream. Wandering down the boardwalk, the pair embraced the comfortable silence that only good friends could share.
"I−" Cate started quietly.
Mike stopped, leaning against the steel railing, his back to the sea. His long legs were tossed out in front of him, inviting her closer. He pulled her toward him, lazily. "What?"
A dozen sentences slid into her mouth at once. I think Tom is gone. I don't think he's coming back. He's set them free for the holidays, though. What will I tell them? Is it my fault? Did I pick him and set them up for lifetime of hurt? She only whispered the last one.
Mike listened, his eyes sweeping over her face. "You're protecting them from the hurt PTSD has caused," he said finally. "You've taught them to be strong. You've modeled it. If you didn't pick him, you wouldn't have them."
"I'd have had Jennifer and Bobby, maybe," she said, looking down at the fat, wooden planks of the boardwalk, gray from time.
And now he understood.
He lifted her chin with his fist, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Catie," he told her, "there are no mistakes."
"Only lessons?" she whispered.
"Al and Nic are not lessons," Mike said gently. He tugged on her sweatshirt, pulling her closer still. Cate leaned her cheek against the warmth of his sweater, hearing his heartbeat, borrowing his strength. His arms encompassed her, the leather of his open jacket creaking even as it hid her face from the gentle wind that kicked up.
Chapter Twenty Five
Cate lifted her head, her eyes streaming.
It was morning, and the sun shone brightly through her kitchen windows. Mike was settled in his favorite place, the tall bar stool. Cate was chopping through thick onions for her famous French onion soup. She diced and sliced, preferring to use a thick knife rather than the food processor. Next to her extra-large cutting board, she melted butter in an extra-large skillet. The
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