Character Witness (36 page)

''
Yes ma'am,'' he mumbled and jotted something in his little notebook along side Gerry's name and vital information. Her name and contact information had been taken. Kathleen was prepared to tell him everything she knew about Gerry, that he was kind and considerate and she hadn't given him his due. Instead, the policeman walked away. She didn't believe him when he said she couldn't have done anything for him even if she'd arrived a week-ago Thursday and waited for the accident to happen.

Kathleen pushed herself away from the door jamb where she'd been looking at the kitchen. It was so clean except for the dust around the back door where they had taken fingerprints. Only a precaution she was assured. The door was open after all; there was no sign of force. He had either left it open or forgot to close it after a neighbor stopped by, but it seemed evident he had opened it himself.

Kathleen turned to the living room and wandered through it looking for the last bit of Gerry left behind. She sat on the sofa, in each chair, but couldn't find his spirit anywhere. She glanced out the window. The Coroner's van was there. She wished she would have asked them to ask Marlene to come, but she hadn't. She had only thought to call Michael but she hadn't been able to reach him. The answering machine was on at the boat.

Trying to drown out the noise of police business as usual, she took refuge in his office, the smallest room in the house, the most like him. Kathleen sat in his chair. She laid her arm over his desk and her head on her arm then closed her eyes and tried not to feel so responsible. She wanted to wail that it was all her fault because she believed it was. She hadn't felt this way when her mother died. That had been the feeling of freedom. This was loss.

When she opened her eyes, it was just in time to see the gurney with Gerry's body being wheeled past the hallway door. Kathleen bolted up right, gasping for air. She would have turned away but they were gone before she could. Gerry was gone with them.

Picking up a pen she stabbed at a piece of paper, threw it away then began to rearrange his desk. She would clean it up.

For who?

Put it in order.

What for
?

Because he might be looking down from heaven and see the nice little thing that she'd done.

Nice things that should have been done while he lived
.

This would be the only nice little thing that she had done for him that was without a tinge of bitterness and disappointment. Grief is all she'd given him. He never let on that she'd hurt him. Her tears started again but not before seeing that the piece of paper she was holding was very interesting indeed.

Wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve since the Kleenex in her hand was in shreds Kathleen took the paper and nestled herself in the cracked leather chair that had been Gerry's favorite.

When she woke, she saw Michael.

''
Are they all gone?''

''
Yes,'' he said quietly. ''I got here just in time. They were going to wake you.''

''
They should have,'' Kathleen murmured. She was stiff and her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. She touched her cheek. It was cold and that reminded her of Gerry and that made her feel like crying again.

''
I'm so sorry, Kathleen. I am so very sorry.''

Michael was sitting at Gerry's desk, but by the time he'd finished with those few words, he had moved and gathered her up in his arms. She was sitting in his lap, cradled like a child. For the life of her, she couldn't remember when she had ever been cared for in this way. They sat like that, her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped loosely around her for a very long time. He smelled so nice. Like Michael. Like a friend. His fingers combed through her hair now and again and when she sighed, he sighed with her.

''
Do you want to stay here tonight? I'll stay with you,'' he finally said.

''
I don't know.'' She shook her head against his chest.

There was a huge hole in the middle of her that everything had fallen into, and no matter how hard she reached, she couldn't find the strength to make a decision. She clutched her hands tighter, realizing that she was still holding the paper she'd picked up from Gerry's desk. She opened her fist. Michael took it.

''
What's this?''

''
A list. I found it on his desk. It's got everyone's name on it.''

Michael looked. ''Tysco. Lionel. Richard. Carl. Money. Money. Money.'' Michael chuckled. ''Gerry had a one track mind.'' He crumpled the paper and held her tighter. She reached half heartedly for it. It was probably important. ''It's nothing tonight. Now come with me.'' He kissed her forehead. She shook her head. ''Yes. Come with me.''

''
I don't want to leave him.''

''
He isn't here any more, Kathleen.''

''
Yes he is,'' she whispered. Tears streamed down her face, falling onto the hands that were once again balled and fisted against Michael's chest. Michael dropped the paper to the floor and set her there after it. She didn't move while he closed the windows and locked the doors. When he came back he had her purse and that same purposeful look he'd had when she'd first encountered him at Tysco. Kathleen didn't think that odd, nor was she upset that there were no tears and no wailing. It was Michael's way and she knew that his heart had broken in just as many pieces as hers.

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he walked her out of the little study where Gerry had planned his defense for Louise and, more than likely, thought of Kathleen. It didn't escape her notice that Michael had closed the door to Gerry's bedroom. She nuzzled into him, all the thank you she was capable of giving at the moment.

Looking up as he led her to the front door, Kathleen realized he was right. Gerry was gone. He handed her out the door and turned to lock it behind them. That was when he allowed himself a private moment. That was when his eyes filled with tears. In his heart he raised a glass to his friend Gerry O'Doul, and then took Kathleen Cotter to his boat where he let her know that she was as precious to him as she had ever been to Gerry O'Doul.

Richard Jacobsen sat in a carved chair that he had rescued from the vestibule of a soon-to-be-demolished church in Wales. It was old, made when men were not so large. It suited him well. He sat in the dark, his hands folded in his lap like a bishop. He considered the new twist to the story that had gone from a footnote in the script of life to an intriguing drama in its own right. He tried to pinpoint the moment when insult had been added to injury, when people had stopped doing his bidding and acted independently with such disastrous results. It wasn't hard to figure it out. What he couldn't understand was why he'd been unable to stop the snowball once it had started to roll. That had never happened to him before. But then, love had never blinded him before. He often looked at that picture in his private dressing room at the office and thought of the ways he would tell her how love had blinded him, what love meant to him. It meant little to her, but to him it meant everything. He kept those thoughts to himself.

Sighing, he stood up and let his gaze linger on his sleeping, exhausted companion. It had been a long road, an unusual experience, and rather exciting. But now it was over. The fires had been put out - not the way he would have done it - but put out nonetheless. There were, of course, loose ends to tie up. He wished there was someone else to do it. Since there wasn't, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

In the hall the early morning light was coming through the huge round window that looked over the grand staircase in his impressive home. He barely noticed the shadow patterns he usually found so artistically pleasing. Downstairs, the housekeeper was beginning his breakfast. He wasn't very hungry. He seldom was but he was a creature of certain habits. She was the one who taught him the value of that. At the end of the hall he settled himself in his library - a huge, exquisitely decorated room - and dialed a number from memory.

''
Carl,'' he said, ''I have some news. Gerry O'Doul died last night.''

The conversation was exactly as he expected. Carl didn't seem the least bit surprised. He, at least, had been surprised. When their talk was done, Richard Jacobsen looked up the next number. He dialed it. The phone rang. No one answered. A machine clicked on.

''
Kathleen, this is Richard Jacobsen. I just wanted you to know that we will expect you to take some time off given what happened last night. I want you to know how sorry -'' Richard's voice cracked. That amazed him. He put two fingers to his eyes and finished up. ''How sorry I am to hear about the passing of Gerry O'Doul.''

His lips on her lips woke her. His body, naked, against her body brought her to consciousness. Kathleen Cotter experienced sensations that were as foreign to her as anything she'd ever known. Long, luxurious minutes ticked slowly by. With each languid trail of his lips, each hungry nip of his teeth, there was an explosion of sensation that ran the length of her body and embedded its memory so deep in her mind it could never be discarded. It filled up her head so there was no space for the sadness and pain she had felt the night before. He made remembering impossible - for a moment.

Kathleen reached for Michael. She held him. She touched him. They rolled together across the small bed and back again, instinctively knowing when the only place left to go was the floor. Each floating with the essence of the other, they were both heavy with desire. The ocean rocked them and the curve of the small cabin kept the sounds of their lovemaking private; as private as the conversation that followed when they lay in one another's arms.

In the end Kathleen's head was cradled on Michael's arm, his free hand was cupped around her bare shoulder. She wished they could stay that way forever, forgetting everything - everything - else in the world. She would not put a name to that everything and she wouldn't let him either. Thankfully he said, ''You slept well.''

''
That happens when you're worn out,'' Kathleen kissed his chest. He smelled like sex. Better yet, he smelled like love. ''I guess you're a morning and night guy.''

''
Kathleen, I can't tell you -''

''
Shhh, not yet,'' she pushed herself up and put her lips over his, pushing hard and harder still until Michael had no choice but to kiss her back. He parted her lips. There was no question he had wanted her for a very long time. But he wouldn't let her run away from what she had to face. It wasn't his style. It never had been. He held her back. Kathleen's eyes were closed, her lips were parted, begging him to make love to her again so that they could just skip over the next days and months until she could open her eyes and look past her loss.

Gently Michael lowered her and kissed her lips and both cheeks. Then he pushed her away and sat up. She had no choice but to do the same in the narrow bed. Tired, she made no effort to cover herself. Michael threw his legs over the side of the bed, gave her arm a squeeze as he retrieved his shirt. Carefully he dressed her in it, putting it on and rolling up the sleeves and buttoning the shirt before sitting down beside her on the bunk.

''
I missed.'' He pointed to the button between her breasts. The shirt was askew. Kathleen looked down and fingered the little white button.

''
It's all right.'' She pushed on it but couldn't manage to get it through the hole. She pushed harder, fumbling with the fabric until she grunted in frustration and pain and her hands beat on the mattress that had so recently cushioned their lovemaking. ''Damn. Damn, Michael.''

Kathleen threw herself against the wall, just to the right of a porthole. Her face was as pale as a foggy morning, the sea outside was as blue as Gerry O'Doul's eyes. Michael concentrated on her. He pulled the sheet around him and sat parallel to her, his back against the wall, the porthole between them. He looked through the window on the other side of the cabin while he spoke.

''
It's going to be a rough day. A rough couple of weeks, actually.''

''
I don't know if I can face it.'' Kathleen was quiet, still picking at the offending button but no longer trying to rectify the problem. ''I didn't have this trouble with my parents. I just took care of things. I thought I could always just take care of things. Why do you think it's so different now?''

''
Because you loved Gerry like a father and he treated you like a daughter.''

''
No he didn't. My father stayed.''

''
Gerry let you grow. Staying doesn't really mean a damn thing, Kathleen. I think I realized that last night when I was driving over to get you.'' Michael picked at the blanket and put that across his lap too. ''Gerry never stagnated, you know? He stuck to his guns, sure. He never stopped moving forward. It was a lesson I wish I'd learned years ago.''

''
What do you mean?''

''
I guess he showed me that I wasn't being a hero by staying at Tysco. It's harder to move and look for a way to do what you were meant to do. That old man had it all over me. He had it all over you too.'' Kathleen hung her head. Finally, Michael urged her on. ''Admitting it would help, Kathleen.'' He reached for her hand. She let him take it, and then she squeezed to make sure his wasn't going to disappear. ''I'm not going anywhere, babe.''

''
I think I would fall apart if you did, Michael. And I do admit it. I thought I wanted to hurt him and now he's dead. I didn't really want to hurt him. Not really.'' She raised his hand to her lips and confessed. ''It was stupid, stupid, stupid. I just wanted him to see that I'd waited and he was the one who had failed me. He hadn't. He hadn't. Michael he gave me everything that really mattered. He gave me love, and advice, and hope. He gave me a chance. He wasn't wrong. My parents were, and I was. When I became an adult I could have picked up that phone, couldn't I?''