Steady (4 page)

“Better take these off,” he said, slipping her shoes from her feet, placing them on the floor. He turned and walked toward the door, stopping at the door, turning back to see her lying in the same position, soft brown eyes staring back at him.

“Good night, Katrina,” he said.

“Good night, Will,” she said softly, watching him leave.

***

Katrina didn’t feel so well, her head hurt something fierce, and her mouth felt like sandpaper. She looked over at the nightstand, reading the time and groaning. It was nearly eleven o’clock, the late morning light falling in through the windows. She pulled back the covers. She was still in her clothes from the night before. What had gotten into her? Oh, she knew—too many of those yellow-and-pink drinks.

Will had delivered her home, she remembered that; remembered her behavior, too. Oh, God, where had that come from? What did he think of her now? A part of her answered
who cares?
The least he could have done was sleep with her and really given her a reason to regret last night.

No, he had to be the good guy. She pulled the cover back over her head. Can’t hide in here forever, she thought a few minutes later. She threw the covers off again, got up, her head reminding her of its critical condition. Thank God it was Sunday and she had the day to recuperate. She needed a shower first, then food. Before that, she needed to text Amber.

She grabbed her purse off the nightstand and found her phone. Of course, a text from Amber was already waiting for her.

“If I don’t hear from you before noon, I’m calling the police,” it read. She smiled. Amber knew of her crush on Will; most of her closest friends did. She texted, “Head banging, shower, food, talk 2 U ltr.” Katrina slowly sat up on the side of her bed. First shower, and then food.

January 2

The following Monday morning found Katrina hunched over her phone, trying to decipher a message left by one of her customers, no longer surprised by the odd times they’d call asking for money. Amber entered the cubicle and walked over to stand next to her, placing her hip on Katrina’s desk. Katrina pushed the play button on her telephone and turned the volume up as far as it could go.

“Listen to this. It’s one of my clients; he called last night,” she said, looking up at Amber. “I can’t quite make out what he’s saying. I think, above the static, you can hear what sounds like traffic in the background, like maybe he was standing near a road or highway. See if you can understand him,” she said, watching Amber’s face twist in confusion as she listened.

“You’ve got some crazy customers, but I believe, besides the gibberish, he wants his check. ‘I need my check’ were his exact words. Who was that, anyway?” she asked.

“Winston Hardwick the Third, son of the famous Hardwicks, the very prominent family from Houston. Winston lives here.”

“Why is he your customer? Doesn’t he belong with a city officer?” Amber asked.

“He has problems with drinking and mental illness. After a long internal struggle, his mother finally gave up hope of helping him, so she set up a trust for him with access to funds so he could eat and have a place to live. Sometimes he’s pulled himself back from the edge, sought help, and lived well for a time, only to stumble again. It was better for the family this way. It keeps him at arm’s length, fed and sheltered but with no more surprise visits to their home in the middle of the night asking for money, unclean, drunk, or off his meds,” Katrina said, pulling up his account information on the computer.

Amber was right. Most of the larger family personal trusts accounts were managed by the larger city offices in the cities where those clients lived. Her customers were small potatoes as far as trusts went, and small potatoes were accounts valued at $3 million or less. She and Amber worked as trust officers, employees of the Western Bank and Trust Company, in the more ambitious sounding Client Trust Department.

Most officers in her division carried a load ranging in size from 250 to 400 accounts. With about 350, Katrina was on the high end.

Katrina’s eyes were glued to her computer where Winston’s account information had been made available online, technology aiding her in the management of her account load.

“He gets a bi-monthly distribution, and, believe it or not, he’s able to get by, to manage, but sometimes he needs more. I’ll move some money to his checking account. I’ll do it this morning,” she said, returning her attention to Amber. “Thanks for listening to my customer.”

“No problem. Want to go for coffee?”

“Sure, let me grab some money. My treat for your translation,” Katrina said.

“That’ll work,” Amber said, walking out of Katrina’s cubicle.

She and Amber often went for coffee at the local coffee shop across the street from the bank. Lights Out Coffee it was called, a small regional chain owned by an ex-boxer and his daughter.

“I’m ready,” Amber said, and they both walked out of the building. Almost immediately Amber started in on her.

“So, tell me about Will. Finally, huh?” she said, not waiting for Katrina’s response. “Now aren’t you glad you dressed up. Woo, I can’t tell you how shocked I was to see you, Katrina of all work and no play, kissing a man. Girl, I didn’t even know you even knew what kissing was. And you got him to take you home. Okay, give it up.”

“Give what up?” Katrina asked.

“You are not going to make me beg you for details, are you? Really?”

“Nothing to detail; I drank too much, he took me home. I was all over him; he wasn’t all over me.” She paused, remembering. “Well, he was once, maybe for a second, but he didn’t stay the night and he didn’t take me up on my offer. Let’s see, oh, and a hangover the next day with nothing to show for it. Is that detailed enough for you?”

“Sorry, but it’s his loss, although I must say that when you finally picked one, you picked a nice one; a beautiful smile and a body to match. Hey, you didn’t tell me he was Asian,” Amber said, stopping so they could cross the street.

“Why, what difference would that make?” she asked, walking to the door of the coffee shop.

“I don’t know. It just surprised me, that’s all. I didn’t know you were interested in other races.”

“I’m not interested in other races. Just Will,” she said.

“Well, anyway, sorry it didn’t work out the way you wanted. Are you going to try again with him?” she asked.

“Nope, it was embarrassing enough having him turn me down the first time. I mean, if me served up on a bed all liquored up and loose wasn’t enticing enough, I don’t know what else to do. Anyway, you do know that only 11 percent of men consider finding a life-long partner their top priority,” Katrina said, opening the door, waiting for Amber to enter.

Amber paused in the doorway and looked at her, shaking her head. “So it’s back to that again. You are something else, you know that, don’t you? You don’t have to quit after your attempt just because you tried something and it didn’t work out as you planned. Don’t go back to your old ways. I was so proud to see you all over him, drunk or not. Don’t stop. Now if we could find you a new target while keeping you from drinking,” she said, walking through the coffee shop door.

“I wasn’t drunk, just tipsy,” Katrina responded, following her in.

“Sure you were,” Amber said over her shoulder.

***

Katrina entered the doors of the garden center later that week. She was there to attend the monthly meeting of the citywide gardening board; she’d been a member for the last five years. The board met the third Wednesday of every month, east of town, in the oldest of the founding neighborhood gardens.

“Hey, Gloria,” she called out, speaking to the secretary of the garden board. She was hired help, unlike the rest of them, who were volunteers.

“Hello, Katrina, how are you?” she answered, stuffing something in a bag, her purse already on her shoulder. She was apparently leaving for the day.

“Is everyone here?” Katrina asked, not breaking her stride.

“Yes, the usual suspects and one mighty fine surprise,” she answered, causing Katrina to pause.

“What?”

“Not going to tell you; you need to see for yourself. Like a Christmas gift, part of the good feeling comes from taking in what you’ve gotten after you’ve had the pleasure of unwrapping it.”

Only mildly curious, Katrina said, “Okay,” and started down the hall leading to the conference room where the committee usually met.

Entering the room, head down, she spotted an empty chair next to Sonja, a representative from one of the predominantly Hispanic parts of town. Six women and three men comprised the nine-member board, which included their leader and board chairman John, whose voice she was now hearing. She walked over, dropped her purse on the floor, pulled out her notebook, and sat down. She wasn’t as late as she’d thought; the meeting hadn’t even started. All that worry for nothing. She took a breath and looked around. Yep, everyone was here, all right. Suddenly her eyes stopped and the breath left her body as she comprehended Gloria’s cryptic message.

Will Nakane, her neighbor, sat looking good—nothing new in that—in a chair next to John. Will was turned sideways away from her as he sat listening to John. He smiled at something John said, and Katrina had to sit back in her chair at the power of that smile.

“I know, right?” Sonja whispered into Katrina’s ear. Apparently she approved of Will, too, if her eyes roaming over him was any indication. They were glued to him as if he was manna from heaven sent by the gods for female consumption.

“He is something else,” Sonja added, rubbing her hands together. “I don’t ask for much in this life, but I would take one of him, any time, any place,” she said, grinning at Katrina.

“Board members, before I call this meeting to order, I would like you to meet a new resident of our city. I am happy and proud to announce that he has built a home in my neighborhood, Shining Creek, and not just any home. His home will be featured in the Sunday addition of the Hampton Heights newspaper because it is one of the few homes in our city built from the bottom up to be green. I’ve asked Will Nakane to stop by to talk a little about his home and to answer questions that are related to green building. Will and I have discussed the city’s commitment to living green and green gardening, and I thought he would be helpful in suggesting ways we can improve our efforts in our home spaces. I had to twist his arm a little to get him to attend, so please give him a warm welcome,” he said, smiling at Will again, plainly awed.

John was something else, Katrina thought, the epitome of the master gardener and lover of all things green. A scattering of applause greeted Will as he sat forward and smiled, his eyes moving around the table. All the women sat up straighter, Katrina included, before she caught herself and sat back, not wanting to join in the fawning over him. Besides, she was all about the hiding. She hadn’t expected to see him so soon afterward; had actually been avoiding him, choosing to work in her back yard instead of the front. Lastly, she preferred to conduct her ogling incognito, usually from the safety of her front porch.

“As I’ve told John, I’m by no means an expert on green living. My travels via work and hobbies have taken me to many beautiful places around the world. It’s the exposure to those places that fostered this desire to do my share, to live greener. So, as part of that effort, I decided to build a more environmentally friendly home,” Will said with a self-deprecating smile, pulling in Katrina and every other woman present.

“I’m not much of a lecturer, so how about I field questions from you instead,” he said.

“What makes a green home green?” This from Cheryl, another single woman on the committee, who, unlike Katrina, favored clothing that accentuated her assets. She leaned forward to give Will the optimal view of her two double D’s. He didn’t take the bait, and Katrina found herself more impressed. Hard to miss those two; hell, she’d even glanced at them a time or two, more than a little envious. Don’t hate the playa, Katrina, respect the game, she reminded herself.

“Good question,” Will said, leaning back, all relaxed and casual.

“A green home can be green in the way you go about building it, green because of the materials you select and use to build with, green in the way in which it uses energy, heating and cooling, and, finally, it can be green in the way in which you dispose of the waste that comes from building it,” he said, looking back at Cheryl before his eyes roamed around the room to touch each of them. “From the beginning, I worked with a green architect who listed the alternatives for me, starting with something as simple as the size of my home and where it sits on the property to take advantage of the sun and wind to its best advantage.” His eyes traveled over Katrina; did his mouth twitch a little before he continued?

“Building green can be expensive at the front end, so my first decisions were also based on affordability,” he said.

Katrina was tuned in, like every other woman at the table, watching him, letting his deep voice wash over her. His hands were on the table, moving independently of him, long, slim, masculine hands drumming some internal tune on the table while he talked. She loved those hands, remembering the feel of them on her body the other night.