Meet Cate by Fiona Barnes Read Free Book Online Page A

Tom?" Cate asked. "Are you all right?"
    There was a beat. Then two.
    "I'm okay," he answered her finally, slowly. There was a catch in his voice but the message was clear: I don't trust you. You don't need to know my business. You'd never know they'd once been married, the closest relationship two people could have.
    "Tom, Alex is prepping for the holiday season. This is her busy time. She'll get back to you soon." Cate wanted him not to pester Al; suddenly it was terribly important that he not think ill of their daughter. Maybe a very small part of her wanted to reassure him.
    "Oh, that's right. Of course." He covered quickly, relieved. He didn't realize his response often mimicked hers. On a subconscious level, he gave back the response he perceived.
    "Tom−"
    "I have to go."
    "Goodbye." And he was gone.
    Cate let the cell phone fall to her lap, the call over. She stared out the tall train window, thinking, as scenery rushed by.
    Tom ran through these patterns about once a season. Despite their divorce, when he felt something he reached for Cate. Now it was up to her to understand what he needed and how she could help him.
    Cate never subscribed to the theory that she should walk away from Tom; he was her children's father and once upon a time, he'd been her best friend. He may have pushed her out of that role, but she still thought of him as someone she'd cared about. She never would stop feeling compassion for him, she supposed now. It wasn't even a choice.
    Cate knew several things from the brief phone call: the immediate threat of their adult children flying to him for the holidays was over. Tom wouldn't admit it, but Cate knew from experience he wouldn't have called her if he considered the issue ongoing. She was also aware that she wouldn't relax for quite some time. And, she realized, Tom was in crisis and was probably holed up somewhere. He probably wouldn't be back in time to spend the holiday season with their family unless she drew him out.
    She idly wondered what else he had in store for her, if he was okay, and where he'd gone off to.
    Passengers around her shuffled their briefcases and bags, as Cate snapped out of her reverie and returned to the present with a foggy heart. She pushed piles of papers and catalogs into her leather carpetbag and watched the city pull into view. Grand Central flashed red on a sign ahead of her, as they entered the long tunnel that led to the beautiful station.
    She'd have to tell the children she suspected their dad's holiday plans had been withdrawn. They'd have questions. Maybe Alex would come for a night and they could just talk. Nic would have some good, sturdy ideas for how to reach his dad.
    Cate knew both children would respond with full hearts. (Even at their respective ages, she still referred to them as her children.) Nic's peace would come after helping. Alex would stay mute, loving her father through the rough patch, sharing her open heart with Cate only. They were used to his disease, and after some rebound time for their own feelings, their instinct would be to support Tom.
    In the meantime, their hearts would gain another wrinkle. The only thing Cate could do was tell them gently (she wished she didn't have to, but she wanted to release them from worry for their family and for her). After that, it was their move. She always supported the two, but it cost her greatly to know this was the man she'd chosen for them: a strong man who'd been broken. Therefore she'd brought this monster, PTSD, to their door.
    Cate's mood was somber as she prepared to dismount the train and begin another workday. The walk would help. She dug into the deep pocket of her bag, searching for light pink earbuds.
     

Chapter Twenty One
    Mike was driving. Cate stared out the car window. In front of her on the floorboard, she'd slipped her clunky black clogs off. Now she covered one  tiny, stocking-covered foot with the other on top of the shoes. Her toes stretched up toward the heat