Free Meet Cate by Fiona Barnes Page B

crunch they'd make when she and Alex hiked through them.
    The day was magnificent, boasting sharp blue skies like only a fall afternoon in Connecticut could produce. Crisp air, with just the hint of a chilly edge to it, teased her nose. It might not last long (she'd expect snow flurries in the beginning of November) but for now it was perfect weather.
    Gathering the zip-up sweatshirt she wore around her slender frame, Cate sat for a minute, thinking. She'd layered the light hoodie over yoga pants and a tee. She'd kicked off her running shoes and short socks by the French doors to the kitchen.
    Try as she might, and as much as she promised herself she would, she couldn't let go of the feelings Tom created in her. It wasn't his face that haunted her, she'd let that go soon after she'd landed, she reminded herself. It was more a feeling of despair that sat deep in her gut. Questions. Why had he run off? Hadn't he seen her? If that wasn't him, where was he? Why did he go? Weren't they good enough?
    Cate hadn't even realized she'd been planting herself on the deck where Tom's house sat as her largest view. It had always been there, much like Tom. Tall against the horizon, the house was an old-fashioned Victorian-style farmhouse. Family-built, it boasted three floors and a massive front porch that spanned the front and south-eastern side of the house, the side that faced Cate. Was she waiting?
    Questions plagued her, thoughts she hadn't allowed in years. She understood his disease in a very real way, both in her conscious mind and on a rational level. Irrationally, she argued with herself. He needs me. He does not. If he did, he'd be here, in front of you. But what if he can't allow himself to need me?
    Why is he running? Her brain cycled back to the basic question again and again. The torment she felt in her heart when she was faced with his PTSD was something she knew her children felt on a daily basis. The heartbreak of feeling as if the person you loved most had rejected you−and suddenly. Knowing it wasn't personal, truly believing that, was the key to moving past the pain.
    But some days that knowledge was simply a fantasy. Cate indulged her anguish a few minutes longer, searching for the bottom of it. If she let it get to her, she'd fall into a chasm where everything felt wrong. Torment would tease and quitting would seem the only way. She wouldn't lower herself to the level of the bully: PTSD. She wouldn't . But she was no longer able to raise Tom up to her level, she thought, saddened. And that haunted her.

Chapter Forty
    Cate stretched lazily, warm in the afternoon sun. Adjusting the outdoor speaker, she concentrated on the music for just a minute. She forced herself through a ritual she'd created: gratitude. As her content mood caught again, she pushed all thoughts of Tom back to their dungeon. She breathed deeply, inhaling and exhaling loudly, smiling as she thought of Deni Houston's teachings: make your breathing loud and proud .
    I'm worth the peace, Cate reminded herself gently. I'm doing the best I can. Cate cemented the sentences with a petite piece of chocolate.
    The end of Werewolves of London teased her ears, reminding Cate that Halloween was approaching quickly. Her team always did a live show, full of practical, fun tips and scares. This year Cate had decided to dress up. What good was access to what she considered the world's greatest hair, makeup and dress if she didn't use it?
    She'd ask her team to contact Broadway, to see who was willing to come out and promote their shows. Cate liked to incorporate children and families in everything she did, therefore she'd have a kid-friendly episode−complete with a party for children who wanted to bring their moms and dads. She'd brew up punch with dry ice, add clean plastic eyeballs and spiders to ice cubes, make spaghetti covered in chunky green pesto for gooey brains.
    Grabbing her favorite fine-point, Cate began to messily scrawl on the closest empty paper,