Four Seasons of Romance (13 page)

“Someone you knew in high school?”

“That’s right.” She swallowed.
“My first
love.”

Calm as ever, Walter took a sip of orange juice. He was,
after all, a practical man. “Wasn’t that Leo?
The one who
died in the war?”

Catherine was surprised that he’d remembered this detail
about her high school sweetheart. “I thought he was dead. I really did. But it
was all an elaborate lie my father concocted.”

“Well, then, why don’t you tell me about him?”

She paused. “You really want to know?”

“Yes,” Walter replied. “I really do.”

With this admission came a sense of exhilaration that washed
over Catherine like a wave. Finally, she would be honest with him.

For the next hour, she told him everything, recounting the
story of her relationship with Leo—their young love, the nefarious way her
father stymied it, and the second chance they’d been given. “I loved him,” she
said. “When he died... I mean, when I thought he died... I had to bury that
love with him and never in a million years thought it would find me again.”

Walter nodded, his lips pursed but eyes clear, managing to
remain collected, as was his way. He heard the story of her love less like an
outraged fiancé and more like a focused accountant, gathering data and facts.

When she had finished, he leaned back in his chair. “Catherine,
I want you to do something for me.”

“Of course,” she said, flush with the giddy sense of
liberation she felt from talking about Leo.

“I want you to describe Leo’s virtues and faults, his
profession and his goals.”

This seemed a strange question to Catherine, but she figured
maybe this was what Walter needed to heal and move on. She told him about Leo’s
spontaneity and his charisma, his loyalty to her, his artistic dreams and also
gave him the abbreviated version of Leo’s not-so-stellar qualities: his
drinking and his instability, his torrid love affair with cars and women.

“But he’s working on it,” she said, “and I believe he’s
trying. Nobody’s perfect.”

Walter stroked his chin, absorbing everything she’d said,
getting the distinct impression that she had been seeing Leo for much longer
than two weeks but saying nothing, content to let her keep her fiction.

“Do you hate me?” Catherine said. “I feel horrible about it,
Walter; I really do. You are a good person and a great partner, and I
appreciate everything you’ve done for me. If you hate me and think I’m a
terrible person, I understand.”

“In my opinion,” he said, choosing his words carefully,
“what you are going through is normal.”

Catherine cocked her head, surprised at Walter’s assessment.
“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you are simply having cold feet. You want to
recapture your youth and be wild with Leo before settling down with me. I’m not
thrilled about it, but that desire itself is natural, so I don’t see anything
wrong with you wanting it for a few weeks.”

The detached way Walter talked about her love life made
Catherine uneasy. This was the man she thought she would spend the rest of her
life with, and he didn’t care that she was in love with someone else? Walter’s
behavior seemed too strange for words.

“I suggest we keep the wedding for October,” Walter said.
“Go have fun with him for a few more weeks. Watch him drink until he vomits.
See what his apartment looks like and ask yourself whether you want to clean
that mess daily. Look in his checkbook and ask yourself whether he can afford a
wife and children. And when he catches the eye of other women—and he will—ask
yourself whether you could wake beside him with the knowledge that you are not
the only woman he makes love to.”

Catherine wasn’t sure which was more chilling—the words
coming from Walter’s mouth or the detached way he said them.

“I’m confident,” he continued, “
that,
based on your description, you’ll soon discover that Leo is simply not the man for
you. You might have known him longer than you knew Michael, but they are cut
from the same cloth. And if you search your heart, Catherine, if you are honest
with yourself... you will have to come to terms with the fact that this is not
the future you want.” Walter speared two fat squares of French toast on the end
of his fork, put them in his mouth, and chewed. 

As the waiter came to replenish their orange juice, a
feeling of nagging doubt replaced Catherine’s feeling of giddy liberation. The
poignancy of his words hit the bottom of her stomach like a two-ton anchor.
Knowingly or unknowingly, he had spoken to all her fears. What if Walter was
right? What if she was making a mistake by choosing love over commitment?
Passion over stability?
Leo Taylor over
Walter Murray?

But another part of her, the wild part that only seemed to
come to the surface where Leo was concerned, felt differently and wanted
nothing but to laugh and walk out of the restaurant. How dare Walter talk to
her as if she were his daughter, out to have her kicks! She certainly didn’t
need a lecture, even if he
was
six years her senior. Catherine wouldn’t
be bullied out of her relationship with Leo, and she certainly wouldn’t give up
without trying.

 “I hope I haven’t upset you,” Walter said, as he
flagged the waiter for their bill. “I just say it as I see it, that’s all.”

Catherine pressed her lips together and said nothing. Walter
said it as he saw it—that much was certain. But did he see it the way it truly
was? All she could think, as she choked down her orange juice, was that the
answer to that question remained to be seen.

That night, she lay in Leo’s arms, telling him about her
meeting with Walter; Leo was angry. “Who the hell does he think he is? He
doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know the first thing about who I am and what I want
in life.”

“You’re right. He doesn’t.” Catherine kissed Leo’s neck,
trying to calm him.

“What did you say about the wedding still being in October?
You told him no, right?”

“I... I didn’t say anything.”

Leo jumped out of bed and started to pace, then smacked the
wall with his hand, sending an echo through the dark room. “I don’t understand
why you didn’t insist the wedding was off.” He stopped pacing. “Is it off,
Catherine?”

“Yes,” she said, “of course, it’s off. But I let Walter
think it wasn’t. It just seemed the easier way.”

“The cowardly way, you mean.” 

Catherine’s eyes flashed. “You weren’t there, all right?
Don’t judge me for the way I handled it.”

“It doesn’t sound like you handled it at all.”

Leo sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his
hands. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be mean. I’m just tired of sharing you
with a man who will never understand you. I’m ready for our future to start,
right now.” He took Catherine’s hands in his. “Let’s get out of here, leave
Philadelphia and all these memories behind. Go somewhere we can start a life
together.
A real life—not one where we’re always ducking
behind corners and lying about who we are.”

He glanced at her keenly. “Are you ready for that, Cat?”

She nodded. “I am.”

“I asked you this once before, a long time ago. But I’m
asking again,” he said. “Do you want to elope with me, Catherine Delaney?”

“I do.” But the answer, the true answer embedded in
Catherine’s heart, was far more complicated than that.

They planned their move for the next few weeks, but
Catherine always found a reason for a delay. Knowing there was a chance Walter
could be right about Leo, something held her back. Despite Leo’s protests, she
continued to see Walter for lunch dates and evening meetings. Every time they
met, Walter made her rethink her decision by making practical comparisons
between Leo and him. Catherine knew Walter was right, that being with Leo was a
risk. But she loved Leo and was willing to accept the consequences or at the
very least try.

Then, just as Catherine wanted so much to prove that Leo was
the right man for her, things began to fall apart. Again, it started with
drinking, and this time, Catherine had been drinking with him.

“We’re about to start a new life,” Leo told her.
“Now’s the time to celebrate!”

She wasn’t sure drinking was the best way to celebrate, but
she told herself to stop being a stick-in-the-mud, so she downed two glasses of
cheap red wine and felt a little queasy. Leo joined her for a glass of cabernet
and switched to whiskey—his usual—for the rest of the night.

Outside the bar, both pleasantly tipsy, he pressed her up
against a brick wall and kissed her passionately. “This is what it’ll feel
like,” he said, kissing her cheeks, her lips, and her chest. “You ready to feel
this good for the rest of your life?”

They returned to his room that night, and Leo pulled out a
bottle of Scotch from under the bed. Before she knew what he was doing, he had
poured two Scotches straight up with a twist of lemon.

Catherine shook her head. “No, no,” she said, “I can’t. I’m
already drunk.”

“Come on,” he said. “Lighten up and have some fun! We’re
celebrating, remember?”

She already had a monstrous headache brewing, so she stuck
to her guns. “Can’t we stop while we’re ahead?” she asked. “You know we’ll feel
awful in the morning.”

“Speak for yourself. I was born for this.” He downed the
Scotch in one gulp.

Leo considered himself a champion drinker, and he wouldn’t heed
her pleas, but this time, she was right. The wine and liquor proved too much
for even Leo to handle. He wouldn’t let go of the Scotch bottle, polishing off
nearly a quarter of it, but an hour later, unable to stand, he crawled to the
bathroom, lurching over the toilet seat to vomit.

Catherine shook her head. There she was, watching Leo vomit
his guts, knowing she’d be the one to clean it should he miss. This was the man
she was about to spend the rest of her life with? Strike one.

The next day, when she met with Walter, he reiterated his
commitment had she decided to leave Leo.

A week later, Catherine and Leo met in town for a light
lunch of fruit and sandwiches and headed back to his motel afterward for a more
private tête-à-tête. As they rounded the corner by the motel office, the
manager motioned to Leo from behind the desk. Leo walked a little faster, but
the manager pushed the door open.

“Hey, Taylor,” he called.
“Yeah, you.
Come here.”

Leo grinned at Catherine, handing her his key. “I’ll just be
a minute. Wait for me back in the room.”

Catherine walked toward his room, but not before she looked
behind her and saw the motel manager waving his arms over his red face.
Whatever they were discussing, it wasn’t cordial.

“What was that about?” she asked when Leo joined her a few
minutes later.

“Oh, nothing,” he said.

“Nothing?
The man looked as if he
was about to have a heart attack!”

Leo plunged his hands deep in his pockets. “I’m a little
backed up on rent.”

Catherine’s eyes widened. “Has the portrait studio not paid
you?”

“Nah, they’ve paid me. It’s just... I’ve been taking more
time off to spend with you.”

She shook her head. “I love spending time with you. You know
that. But if it means you can’t pay your rent...”

“No, no,” Leo assured her, “this is nothing to worry about.
Let’s just put the whole thing out of our minds.” He began to caress her cheek
and placed his lips on her collarbone, but Catherine was unresponsive,
realizing that after months of wondering, she needed answers about Leo’s
finances. “How much money will you make working for your friend?”

He stopped kissing her, and for a moment, she felt his warm
breath on her shoulders. Then, he turned away. “What friend?”

“Your Army friend.
The one who offered you a job in DC.”

Leo shrugged. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked dollar
signs.”

Catherine nodded toward the phone on the bedside table.
“Maybe it’s time you called and asked.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Leo said. He kissed her neck
again, but she pulled away.

“We’re talking about moving several states away to start a
family, and you’re telling me you don’t know what your salary will be?” She
picked up the phone and handed it to him. “
Here.
Call
him. It won’t take but a minute.”

Leo stared at the phone then shook his head. “I can’t.”

Catherine set the phone down hard on the bedside table, the
metal letting out a shrill clank as it hit the wood. “Do you even have a friend
in DC? Tell me the truth.”

He held her gaze for a moment, and then ran his fingers
through his hair. “He hasn’t actually offered me a job,” Leo confessed. “But he
probably would if I showed up on his doorstep.”

Catherine shook her head. She was about to throw away her
whole life and everything she’d worked for—the independence she’d found in
Philadelphia beyond her father’s clutches, her steady job as an accountant, and
even her fiancé, for goodness’ sake, a decent man who would always take care of
her.
And for what?
The slim
possibility of employment in the nation’s capital with a man who had lied about
having a job?
She grabbed her purse and stood to go.

“Please,” Leo begged, “don’t leave.”

“I don’t know what to say to you,” she said. “I need some
time to think about this.” Strike two.

At brunch the following morning, Catherine told Walter what
had happened. He placed his hand over hers—an uncharacteristic display of
public affection for him, especially before 11 a.m.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know that must have been
disappointing.”

Catherine’s eyes filled with tears despite herself. “I suppose
it’s my fault for expecting it would be different.”

Walter cleared his throat and leaned closer. “I’m not a
bragging man, and I won’t name any numbers, but I want to assure you. If
neither you nor I work another day in our lives, our financial future will be
very secure.
If you choose to go on with the wedding that
is.”