Wrapped in Rain(37)

I finished the saddle and then emptied my camera bag, lens by lens, on the bench around me. I hadn't done that in a while and needed to check my lenses. I grabbed a camel-hair brush and started dusting. Katie watched quietly, her mouth nervously chewing on whatever it was she wanted to say. Finally, she got her nerve up. "I owe you some sort of explanation."

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"You want the long or short version?"

"I want the version that doesn't make me an accessory to anything."



She smiled again and nodded. "I suppose I had that coming."

"You did."

"That revolver is in the top of the closet. Unloaded and laying in a shoe box filled with old pictures. Most are of you. I even found one or two of me in there. Anyway, it's up there where Jase can't get his hands on it. Not that he would, but you're welcome to do whatever you want with it. It's pretty obvious that I don't know how to handle it."

For the first time I looked closely at the bags surrounding her eyes. They weren't bags. "You get those black marks from the same guy you stole that revolver from?"

She leaned back, cupped her hands inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt, hiding her fingers, and I had a feeling I was about to hear twenty years of history.

"Dad took us to Atlanta but had a real funny feeling about working with your father, so he quit after only three days. He went to work with some guys who had warned him to steer clear of Rex Mason. Anyway, Dad found his niche and so did I. They enrolled me at a private school with a good music program not far from the house called Pace Academy. The teachers there taught me a lot, but more than anything, they taught me how much Mom really knew. One thing led to another ... Julliard heard me play and awarded me a scholarship. I spent four years in New York going to school, playing the piano, and freezing my tail off from November to March."

Katie had changed; her voice, her figure, her facial expressions-every part of her-had grown and now had mileage, but the sound of Katie making fun of herself told me that she hadn't fallen that far from the tree. Inside that scared woman, I heard a familiar sound.

"To make money, I'd play weekends in basement bars and second-story jazz clubs through Upper and Lower Manhattan. By my senior year, the managers were calling me, and I started playing over candlelight and white tablecloths."



"Meaning the tips were better and fewer people spit beer at you?"

"Exactly. One night, I was digging through my tip jar after the restaurant had closed and I found a thousanddollar bill. A thousanddollar bill! I thought it was a mistake. I had never seen one. Anyway, I graduated, decided I liked Central Park in the springtime, and started putting money in the bank."

"You really liked New York?" I interrupted, picking up another lens.

She shrugged. "Not at first, but it grew on me. It's not a bad place." She smiled. "It did get a little crazy, and for a country girl from Alabama, a bit too fast-paced. At twenty-five, a jazz restaurant off Fifth Avenue called The Ivory Brass booked me four nights a week. Most of Wall Street filtered through there during the course of a week. I felt like the female version of Billy Joel's Piano Man."

Katie sipped, looked through her coffee, and I could tell her mind was walking down Fifth Avenue. She had come a long way from the little girl who waved through her dad's back window.

"A friend of a friend introduced me to Trevor. A successful broker, partner in his own firm gaining credibility, and a bulldog's reputation up and down Wall Street. He seemed sensitive, connected, cultured, and"-she shook her head-"had an affinity for thousanddollar bills." She looked out across the pasture, and the seconds passed. "Listen to me. I sound so ... so New York." She rubbed her eyes and drew in the dirt with her toe.

She continued. "He became a regular. Pretty soon, he was taking me home, and I suppose I began looking forward to seeing his face in the crowd. After several months, and saying no several times, I finally said maybe and he moved me uptown. A trial run, you might call it. I still don't really know why. No other options, I suppose."



I couldn't believe that. Katie always had options. A woman like that, beautiful and able to play the piano like a bird sings, always had options. Katie sounded lost. Homesick. Adrift.

"He's older and wanted kids right away, so I relented and played until Jase came along."

I walked to the percolator, refilled our cups, and returned to my camera. She sipped and continued. "Looking forward to Jase's birth kept us happy for a while ... We warmed up to the idea of marriage. When Jase arrived a month early, we married at the courthouse with no real celebration. A formality. Maybe we felt ... or maybe I felt, getting married justified Jase. I'm not sure I ever loved Trevor. No. . ." She shook her head. "Even then I knew. In the back of my mind, it was there."

"Katie, I'm sure-"

"No," she interrupted, holding up her hand. "I tried to love him, but for lots of reasons, I don't think I ever did. As bad as it sounds, I liked what he offered. That is, until I got to know him. Despite his appearances to the contrary, Trevor's not exactly lovable. That sensitive, cultured, and connected man turned into Jekyll and Hyde. Plus, Jase was a preemie and seemed like the underdog from the beginning. From day one, we encountered problems. He was physically little, his lungs needed time and development, and for about six months, he slept during the day and cried all night." She waved her hand across her chest as if mocking a display. "Never endowed with much, I had a difficult time nursing him. Trevor made good money, and he couldn't have his wife seem somehow less than the rest of the glitter and gold that populated his social circle. I had to measure up. Literally."