Tom wanted people to think he was good, wanted to think it of himself. To that end, he could be sweet as hell - attentive, well-spoken. So I let him bamboozle me.
He cheated on me a month after we were married. I found out, of course. Tom wasn't good at subterfuge. Maybe he didn't want to be. Eventually, I confronted him in a big ugly scene with me screaming and crying and him pleading how it didn't mean anything. It just happened.
'Weather just happens,' I remember shrieking. 'But people choose to be unfaithful.'
In the end, though, I didn't want to admit to my family and friends - and myself - that, at the supposedly mature age of twenty-nine, I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. I didn't want to confess that I'd been a shitty judge of character and my dream of happy home and hearth was truly down the toilet. So I forgave him.
But not completely. Part of me sat back, folded its cynical arms, and waited for him to knock the bottom out again. He knocked it out all right, more than once, but he never broke my heart like the first time - not even when he ran off with my seventeen-year-old niece.
He said my coldness killed our marriage. He may have been right. My only regret was that I hadn't killed it sooner. I wondered why I hadn't. Had I felt comfortable dancing that sick little dance with Tom, knowing all his moves, knowing he'd always live down to my new low image of men? And what about now? Was I over it? More grown-up? Sadder but wiser? Or had I lost a precious seed of faith I ought to be trying to recover?
'You're awfully quiet,' Joe said, stroking my curls as if I were a child.
I snuggled closer to his chest. We'd have to get up soon and dress. The basement wasn't as warm as the rest of the house.
‘I love you,' he said, and kissed the top of my head.
The weight of expectation compressed the chambers of my heart. I knew I should say it back. I did love him. I just couldn't open my mouth. Was I still waiting for the next blow to fall? Did I intend to keep my guard up forever?
‘I love you, too,' I said, to prove I'd escaped my past.
Joe sucked in a breath and hugged me close. 'Kate,' he whispered. 'Oh, Katie.'
I'd made him happy. But I didn't feel any better.
Chapter Nine
Captain Blood
Our days took on a new rhythm once Joe became Captain Blood.
Though he hadn't graduated yet, Sean obtained a part-time accountancy position at a law firm downtown. He loathed the stuffy my-cell-phone's-smaller-than-yours atmosphere, but performed his duties so brilliantly no one dared take him to task for breezing in late - in blue jeans, no less.
Actually, brilliance alone could not protect him. Brilliant people get fired every day. But Sean had an air that said only an idiot would refuse to let him have his way. He believed this in every fibre of his being and, as a result, other people believed it, too.
It seemed Sean was top in every arena.
Faced with some new and expensive desires, Joe left his job at the students' union to work for Sean's Uncle Mike, the demolition king. The work was strenuous, but the pay enabled him to hire a vocal coach and buy a second-hand piano - which we installed in our already eclectic gym.
Now that Joe had accompaniment, the extent of his talent grew clear. The first time I heard him play Captain Blood's lush, humorous overture, the first time I heard him sing the catchy tunes he'd dropped into that beautiful net, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. This was no apprentice work. This was the creation of a genuine artist - not as mature as he would be in ten years, or twenty, but far from child's play.
When I stuttered out my amazement, he confessed -bashfully - that he'd been a child prodigy. Only his mother's insistence on a normal home life had kept his Aunt Florence from dragging him on tour.
'Your mother was right,' I said. 'You grew up modest and well adjusted. Now, instead of being burnt out and screwed up, you've got a brilliant career ahead of you.'
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. 'If I'm lucky.'
'Luck!' I shook his shoulder. 'Sweetie, talent like yours makes its own luck.'
I could see he doubted my claim. Pride swelled in my heart, and resignation. Joe might not know it yet but he was going places, big places. Captain Blood was just the start of it.
As for me, unlike my busy housemates, I had far too much time on my hands. Keith proved an efficient manager, eager to assume any responsibility I'd allow him. My overtime shrank to nothing, but now there was no one to greet me at the end of the day. Joe had rehearsals and Sean worked evenings.
Only bed remained sacred. Even if they stumbled home at midnight, the men would climb the final flight to my room. We were, however, sleeping a lot more than we used to.