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“What about Missy?”
Kate could feel the beat of her heart as the silence stretched between them. “What are you thinking?”
Tom spoke slowly. “I’m thinking that you blame yourself for something that had nothing to do with you. Not really. I’m thinking that Missy was a troubled, anger-driven person because of the inadequacies of her parents after they split. I’m thinking that Missy, afraid of losing anyone else in her life, sought to control the people she held dear. And maybe she didn’t mean to do it, but it led her to manipulate and lie. She controlled you, Kate. By the way she acted. By the way she made any action you took to be your own person into a personal betrayal of her. She did the same with Mark.”
Kate was too stunned to speak for a moment. “No,” she said finally, her voice weak. “You’re wrong.”
Tom shook his head. “Kate, it was so evident. Even Dad remarked on it. He said he tried to speak to you about it, but you got angry and said he’d never liked Missy in the first place, so he let it go.”
She blinked at him, trying to make sense of his words. How could it be? She vaguely remembered her father talking to her about Missy, but she really had thought it was plain dislike of how close she and Missy were. Then she thought about the number of times Missy had criticized or ridiculed any boy that Kate had taken an interest in, or who might show some interest in her. Especially Simon. She’d made it impossible for Kate to be around Simon without flushing seriously at Missy’s condemning words like “prig,” “stuck up,” or “boring.” But Missy had Mark as a boyfriend. They’d been together since eighth grade. Neither of them had really had any other relationships before that. Had Missy really tried to keep Mark by her side, regardless? No, she thought. He’d adored her. Zig’s words about Missy warning Ethan that Mark was Kate’s boyfriend echoed through her mind.
She looked up at Tom. “Do you really think so?” Her voice broke mid-sentence, and she felt his hand squeeze hers again. Reassuring, comforting. She took a deep breath. “God, I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ve said it now. It’s what I think. You’re not to blame for any of Missy’s decisions or actions. You have to stop punishing yourself. Starting with your music. You used to thrive up there on stage. Music is in your blood. You can’t get away from it.”
He sat back. “When you first went off to Paris, Dad was gutted. He let you go, figuring you needed time away to find your way back to yourself again. He knew that Missy’s death cut deep. Me, I thought you were running away, afraid to face the fact that Missy wanted to punish you in the worst way possible.
“Then, after you settled in Italy, I thought maybe you found a different part of yourself, and through that, happiness. The fact that you could hardly stand to be a minute longer than necessary at home in Somerton Lake, I put down to the reminders it held. Though again, it broke Dad’s heart.”
Kate felt a deep pain hearing the impact her decisions had on both Tom and her father. Deep down, she’d know she’d been hurting them, but she’d refused to acknowledge it at the time.
Tom leaned forward again, his expression earnest. “And though you never said much about Giancarlo, I hoped, we hoped, that he was the person who would get you back to yourself. Help you create a good life. But when you came home for Dad’s birthday, well, it wasn’t the Kate I knew. Not at first. Dad said to me, jokingly, ‘Where’s my little fiery girl gone?’ But we both knew it wasn’t a joke. Then, when I met Giancarlo, well, I mean he’s okay, but then when you two were together, I thought this isn’t who she’s meant to be with. The real Kate isn’t there, not with him.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it. She took a deep breath. “I owe him a lot,” she said, finally, not able to bring herself to tell Tom of Giancarlo’s latest actions. “He helped me so much after art school. Getting me started, assisting me in finding a focus for my art, encouraging me when I did.” The words were what she’d always told herself. Now, she wondered if it was more directing, leading, than encouraging.
“I know, and it was really good of him to do that,” said Tom. “Your art is important. I can see that. And it’s amazing that he helped you uncover that part of you. But it was as though it had to unfold in his way. That you had to pursue it under his guidance.” Tom grimaced. “I’m sorry, but in some ways he’s like Missy.”
She pulled back, away from his gaze. “No, you’re wrong.”
“Am I?” Tom held her eyes.
She looked away, confused at all he’d relayed. “I can’t believe that. Giancarlo loved me.” But what kind of love had it been?
“I don’t doubt it,” said Tom. “And how do you feel? A few weeks ago I would have said that you were heading in a direction that was where you should have been a long time ago.”
She turned sharply to look at Tom. “What?”
“With Ethan. You two are like two halves of a whole. Inevitable as one. What you share is special. Don’t throw it away. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”
Kate started shaking her head slowly, denial her automatic response to the sudden pain that took hold of her. She made herself breathe. “No, Tom. That’s where I know you’re wrong. Ethan and I aren’t inevitable. You think I have things to work out. Well, he has just as many, if not more. And the spotlight is no place to work them out. I can attest to that. I’m no celebrity. You may think I thrived on stage, but it was among friends. I was playing because I wanted to share my music with people who loved it, enjoyed it. There were no celebrity extras attached to it. Simple.” Simple. But she knew it wasn’t. The emptiness she’d feel at times only to be replaced by the ache, the crippling sadness, if she didn’t lock it up tight.
“Ethan’s no different from you, Kate. He wants a simple life. And he’ll get there. I know him.”
“You know him?” Her tone was mocking.
“I do.” He reached for her hand. “But whatever happens, whatever you decide, I want you to know that I will be there for you. You can count on me.”
The tears welled now, and she tried to brush them away as they spilled over. “Thanks,” she said after a moment. “I have no idea what I’m going to do.”
Tom gave her a reassuring smile. “You’ll figure it out. I can tell that now.”
Kate forced a smile in return, hoping that his words were true. At this point it didn’t seem that way.
Forty-Two
Kate stirred her espresso, feeling the tension grow, despite her jet lag. Outside the café, in the Piazza Navona, the streets were wet and slick, and umbrellas jostled for space as they swept by. A dreary January morning, and few were eager to linger at the stalls or shop windows like most days, when the weather was dry and clear. It was the damp chill that would prevent those from lingering now, as much as the rain. Kate was thankful for the winter coat as well as the umbrella she’d had the foresight to pack. Her hair was another story, and even now tendrils were finding their way onto her face as the café door opened and with it, a gust of wind.
She looked up and saw Giancarlo. He was immaculate as always, and the trench coat he wore was expensive, but all the clothes and attention to detail didn’t hide the drawn and cautious look on his face. Kate felt her anxiety grow. He caught sight of her then, and his face gave away little more. She nodded, and he made his way over to the small table she’d chosen, dropping a kiss on each cheek.
