Season Of Passion Part 6

"I don't know, Licia. I'm serious. The first book stank, even if it did get published. And they wouldn't even take the last one. I'm getting nervous."

"Don't be. Three's a charm. And besides, your first one did not 'stink.' It sold very nicely, as I recall."

"Bulls.h.i.t." Kate looked glum.

"Don't be so insecure. How many women your age have even written two books?"

"Hundreds probably." But Kate liked the rea.s.surance; she had no one else to give it to her, no one to talk to, in fact. She was careful to avoid getting past the "Hi, how are you?" stage with anyone in town. She had Tygue, and Felicia, and her work, and her visits to Tom. And no room for anything else. "I'm just beginning to wonder if I have what it takes to write a successful novel."

"Maybe you don't want to." Felicia looked over her shoulder as she expertly poured her martini into a gla.s.s from the pitcher she kept in Kate's cupboard. Whenever Felicia arrived, it seemed to them both that she had just been there the day before. Kate loved that about their relationship. "Maybe you just don't want the ha.s.sle of success. Wouldn't that force you into a lot of choices you don't want?" It was a question Felicia had long wondered about.

"What choices? Whether or not Tygue goes to college?"

"That's a benefit, love, not a choice. I'm talking about what would happen to you if your book was a smash. Could you go on living here? Would you expose yourself to publicity? Would you condescend to 'visit the big city' for interviews? Those, my love, are choices."

"I'll deal with them when I have to."

"May it be soon." Felicia toasted her with the martini, and Kate laughed. "You never give up."

"Of course not." It had been three and a half years, and she still wanted Kate to come back. She admitted Tygue was thriving and happy, a beautiful child with healthy pink cheeks and his father's huge cornflower-blue eyes. He hadn't suffered yet from the cultural deprivation of the life his mother had chosen, but in time he would. That had been Felicia's latest tack, but it hadn't worked any better than the others. "You are the stubbornest woman I know."

"Thank you." Kate looked pleased.

"Where's my G.o.dchild, by the way? I brought him a present."

"If it weren't for you, Licia, the child wouldn't have a thing to play with. But thanks to you"-Kate grinned at her friend-"he has more than all the kids in town. The train got here last week."

"Oh did it?" Felicia tried to look innocent. Maybe he was a little young, but she'd felt he ought to have one. "After all, living in this wasteland, the poor child needs something to amuse himself with. So where is he?"

"At nursery school."

"Already? He's too young!"

"He started right after Christmas, and he loves it."

"He'll get germs from the other kids." But Kate just laughed at Felicia as she finished her drink. It was a sunny Friday afternoon in late February, and in Kate's part of the world, it already felt like spring.

"He should be home in half an hour. He goes from two to five, after his nap. Want to take a look at the new ma.n.u.script while you wait?" Felicia nodded acquiescence with a slow happy smile. "What are you staring at?"

"I was trying to remember if I looked that good at twenty-six. But I just remembered. I didn't."

"That's because I live here, and not in some wretched city."

"Bulls.h.i.t." But maybe it was true. And in any case, Kate did look well. Even the visits to Tom didn't seem to weigh her down as they used to. Nothing had changed there, she had just adjusted.

Tom was still at Mead, and Mr. Erhard was still taking extraordinary care of him. Tom was still playing the same games, reading the same books, working out the same puzzles-it was like an eternity of first grade. Now that Kate had Tygue to compare him with, Tom's stagnation was more noticeable, but he remained gentle and lovable. She still saw him twice a week. Tygue thought she went away to work. It was just something his mother did.

Kate looked at her watch as she handed Felicia the ma.n.u.script. She still had a little time before Tygue came home, and she was anxious to know what Felicia thought of the new book. Licia made some surprisingly perceptive comments about her work. It was almost twenty minutes later when Felicia lifted her head with a look of surprise.

"How did you manage the s.e.x scene?"

"What do you mean, how did I manage it?"

"You been having more fun down here than I credit you with?" Felicia looked over with a sly smile, and Kate was annoyed.

"Don't be ridiculous. I just wrote it, that's all. It's fiction."

"Amazing." Felicia looked impressed, but there was mischief in her eyes.

"Why? Is it lousy?" She was worried.

"No. Surprisingly good. I'm just surprised you can remember that far back. You know, with the wonderful, normal, healthy life you lead down here, all the men you see ..."

"Felicia Norman, up yours." But she grinned as Felicia went back to the book. For a minute, she'd had her worried. Felicia was always bugging her about her s.e.x life, or lack of it. Felicia might never have had a mad pa.s.sion in her life, but there was always someone at hand to keep the juices flowing properly. Kate hadn't made love with a man in four years. She didn't even let herself think about it anymore. That wasn't part of her life. She put all her energies into Tygue, and the books. Maybe it even made the books better. Sometimes she wondered about that. The books were her lovers. And Tom and Tygue were her kids. It was an hour later when Felicia put down the ma.n.u.script with a serious look on her face. Kate trembled looking at her.

"You hated it."

For a moment, Felicia only shook her head. "No. I loved it. But kiddo, you're walking right into something you're refusing to look at."

"What?" A plot problem obviously. Dammit, and she'd been so careful.

"Exactly what I warned you about-success." Felicia's face remained grave, and Kate grinned.

"You mean it?"

"I do. But do you mean it?"

"Oh, stop being such a worrier. I'll face it when I get there."

"I hope so."

And then the conversation ended abruptly as the school bus arrived with Tygue. He came bounding into the house in blue jeans and a red flannel shirt, little cowhide cowboy boots, and a bright yellow parka. "Aunt Licia! Aunt Licia!" He bounced into her lap, cowboy boots and all, and Kate cringed at what would happen to the suede suit, but Felicia seemed to mind not at all.

"Wait till you see what I brought you!"

"Another twain?" His face lit up like a spotlight, and both women laughed.

"Nope. Take a look. There's a big box in the car. Can you get it yourself?"

"Sure, Aunt Licia." He went thundering outside again, and Kate watched him go. He was growing so fast ... and then she caught a funny look on her friend's face.

"Okay, you, warn me now-what did you bring him? A live cobra? White mice? Tell me the truth."

"Nothing like that, Kate. Really." But she could already hear the squeals from outside the house. Felicia had been nervous about it since she'd arrived. She'd even sneaked out to the car once with a saucer of water. But he had been asleep. He wasn't asleep now though, he was being pa.s.sionately squeezed by Master Tygue.

"It's weal!"

"Of course it's weal!" Felicia grinned at the look on the boy's face, and for a minute Kate rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too. "Is he yours, Aunt Licia?" It was the droopiest sad-eyed ba.s.set hound puppy Kate had ever seen, and just looking at him made her want to laugh. Tygue put him on the floor, and the dog's legs seemed to slide out from under him. His ears fanned out and he looked mournfully up at the little boy and wagged his tail.

"Do you like him, Tygue?"

Tygue nodded ferociously and then sat down next to the little black and white dog. "You're so lucky. I wish we had one too. I want one, Mommy."

"You've got one, Tygue." Aunt Licia was on her knees next to her G.o.dchild, holding both the boy and the dog.

"I got one too?" Tygue looked confused.

"This one's yours. Just for you." She kissed him softly on the top of his blond head.

"For me?"

"For you."

"Oh! Oh!" It was all he could say for minutes, and then he threw himself on the dog with delight. "What's his name?"

"That's up to you!"

"I'll have to ask Willie." Willie, the treasured teddy bear, had become his best friend. Tom still had his too, and it was hard to decide which one looked more loved and weather-beaten, Tygue's or his father's. Tygue bounded out of the room a minute later and Kate stooped down to pet the little dog.

"Are you furious, Kate?" Felicia looked only slightly remorseful.

"How could I be, you nut? Just don't bring the kid a car next time you visit. Save that till he's six." The dog was irresistible though, and she lifted him happily into her lap. Tygue was back in a minute with Willie.

"Willie says his name is Bert."

"Then Bert it is."

Tygue squeezed him again, and Bert wagged his tail. The family was complete. And Felicia had even liked the beginning of her new book. Kate felt as though good things were in store. And Licia was crazy with that bulls.h.i.t about success. h.e.l.l, if the publisher just accepted the book, that would be enough. It didn't have to be a best seller. That only happened one time in a million, and she knew it wasn't for her. She could feel it. This was her life.

CHAPTER 7.

"Going to teach today, Mom?" Kate nodded and handed Tygue another piece of toast. "I thought so. I can always tell." He looked pleased with himself, and Kate watched her son with a warm glow. Graceful and st.u.r.dy and thoughtful and bright, and so pretty, but in an appropriately boyish way. He looked a little less like Tom now. And he was nearly six.

"How can you always tell when I'm going to teach?" They had long since established a chatty rapport over breakfast, and on this beautiful spring day she was feeling playful. Tygue was the person she spoke to most. Now and then it made her respond to him on his own childlike level, but most of the time they found a mutually acceptable middle ground.

"I can tell 'cause you wear gooder clothes."

"I do, huh?" She was grinning at him, and there was a fierce sparkle of mischief in his eyes, not so very different from her own. "And the word is 'better,' by the way."

"Yeah. And you wear that goopy stuff on your face."

"What goopy stuff?" She was laughing with a mouthful of toast.

"You know-the green stuff."

"It's not green, it's blue. And it's called eye makeup. Aunt Licia wears it too." As though that would make it okay.

"Yeah, but she wears it all the time, and hers is brown." He grinned broadly at her. "And you only wear yours to teach. How come you only wear it then?"

"Because you're not old enough to appreciate it, hot stuff." But neither was Tom. Anymore. She just wore the eye makeup and the "gooder" clothes, as Tygue called them, because she felt she ought to, for visiting Tom at Mead. It seemed suitable. There she was "Mrs. Harper." Here she was only "Mom." And occasionally "ma'am" at the supermarket.

She had long ago explained to Tygue that she taught writing at a school in Carmel for disturbed children. It allowed her to talk about Tom sometimes, or some of the others she saw. She had often told him stories of Tom, of his drawings, of Mr. Erhard-the stories were dusted off just enough so that she could tell Tygue and feel some relief. Or sometimes when Tom had had a moment of great victory, done a wonderful drawing, learned a game, or completed a puzzle that had seemed so much beyond him-sometimes then, she could share the triumphant feeling with Tygue, even if she shouldn't have. And by telling him that she taught at a school for disturbed children, she could also provide an excuse for going to her room and closing the door after a rough day. Tygue understood that. He felt sorry for the children she told him about. And he thought she was a good person for going there. Sometimes she wondered if that was why she had told him that story ... poor Mommy ... good Mommy ... she drives all that way to work with r.e.t.a.r.ded children. She shrugged off such thoughts. It was crazy to need strokes from a six-year-old child.

"How come they don't ever get vacation?" He was slurping through his cereal now, and Kate's thoughts had already drifted ahead to Tom.

"Hm?"

"How come they don't get vacation?"

"They just don't. Want to bring Joey home from school today? Tillie will be here when you get back." But she didn't need to tell him. He knew that. "She could drive you guys over to see the new horses down at the Adams ranch, if you want."

"Nah."

"No?" Kate looked at him with astonishment, as he plowed on through the cereal with a blase look on his face, but that same bright little flame in his eyes. He was up to something. "What's with you? Other plans?"

He looked up with a quick smile and a faint blush, but a vehement shake of his head. "No."

"Listen, you, be a good boy for Tillie today. Promise?" Tillie had the phone number at Mead, but Kate was on the road so much of the time that she still worried a little, even after all these years. "Don't do anything wild or crazy while I'm gone. I mean it, Tygue." The voice was suddenly stern, and his eyes met hers with a promise.

"It's okay, Mom." As though he were a thousand years old. And then suddenly the staccato honking of his car pool, and she could see the big yellow Jeep in the driveway.

"They're here!"

"Gotta go. See ya!" The spoon flew, a last grab at the toast, his favorite cowboy hat, a stray book on the table, a wave as she blew him a kiss, and he was gone. As she took another swallow of coffee, she couldn't help wondering what he was up to, but whatever it was, Tillie could handle it. She was a large, grandmotherly, affectionate woman, but she had been a widow for too many years herself to take any nonsense from Tygue. She had brought up five boys and a daughter, managed a ranch by herself for years before finally turning it over to her eldest son, and she had been baby-sitting for Tygue since he was born. She was rough and ingenious, and they had a marvelous time together. She was a real country woman, not an immigrant like Kate. There was a difference, and probably always would be. Besides, Kate was a writer, not a woman of the kitchen and garden. She enjoyed the country around her but she still knew little about it.

She looked around the kitchen for a minute before grabbing her jacket and handbag, wondering what she'd forgotten. She felt a strange tug this morning, as though she shouldn't be going. But she was used to that too. She no longer listened to those feelings. She just steeled herself and went. Tillie was unquestionably reliable. She shrugged into the jacket and looked down at her slacks. They still fitted her as they had eight years before when she'd bought them after modeling them. They had been beautiful then and were still beautiful, a soft caramel-colored gabardine, and the jacket was a tweed she had worn riding years before. The only thing new was the pale blue sweater she'd bought in town. She smiled again as she thought of what Tygue had said about what she wore. She liked looking pretty for Tom. She almost wondered if she should make more of an effort for Tygue too. But at six? That was crazy. What did he know? Or did he? The thought of dressing up for a six-year-old boy made her laugh as she walked out to the car.

She put her mind into automatic pilot all the way up to Carmel, and it turned out to be one of those days when she stayed on automatic throughout the day. The road had been tedious and all too familiar, Tom was dull and listless, the day turned foggy. Even the lunch was one she'd had hundreds of times before. Some days with Tom stood out like rare gems, their facets gleaming and brightly hued, casting rainbows of dancing light. Other days were dark and cold and had the taste of ash. And some days she felt nothing at all. Today she felt nothing, except fatigue as she left. She was anxious to hit the freeway as soon as she could, and drive back to the little house in the hills, and Tygue, and the silly sad-eyed ba.s.set hound who had become a member of the family. She had missed them all day. Maybe she should have stayed home after all. The speedometer hit well over ninety as she drove home. It often did, but she seldom got caught. Only twice in six years. The trip was so boring, only shortening it by speeding made it bearable. Now and then a pang of conscience toward Tygue would make her slow down, but not often. Fifty-five was intolerable. She cruised at eighty-five most of the time.

It was almost five as she drove, still too fast, over the back roads that led to the house. Why had she had this d.a.m.n uneasiness all day? She ground across the gravel on the driveway, keeping an eye out for the dog, but anxiously combing the area around the house for Tygue. And then she saw him, and smiled as she stepped on the brakes and slid into park. He was filthy and smiling and beautiful and she had been crazy to worry. What the h.e.l.l was wrong with her? She made the trip all the time. What had made her think that anything would be wrong today, or that anything would come up that Tillie couldn't handle? Tillie, in fact, was looking as filthy as Tygue, and even Bert looked as though he needed a bath. The three of them were covered with mud. Tillie even had a great smudge of it on one cheek, and there was lots of it matted in Tygue's hair, but they looked delighted with themselves.

Tygue was waving frantically now and shouting something. It was time to move. To get out of the car. To be Mom again. And Tillie was peeling a pair of overalls down from her shoulders. The outfit she was wearing underneath was scarcely more elegant, and as always when returning from Carmel, Kate instantly felt overdressed. She grabbed her handbag and stepped out of the car. Her day as Tom's Kate had ended. It was Tygue's turn now. She took a deep breath of the fresh country air, and then sighed as she reached down to pat Bert, snuffling happily at the cuffs of her slacks.

"Hi, guys. What've you been up to?"

"Wait till you see, Mom! It's terrific! I did it! I did it! Tillie didn't do nothing!" Anything. To h.e.l.l with it. "Nothing" was good enough. She was too tired to correct him, and too happy at seeing him safe and sound.

"She didn't, huh? Well, guess what?" She had already scooped him into her arms, mud and all, and he was squirming to be free.

"Come on, Mom, you gotta come look."