SEVEN

Without question, Kate categorized the next few weeks as some of her most fun in the prior year. Every opportunity she had to meet with Rick on a day they weren't working they met to discuss his book, Flowers for Your Grave, and the improvements he could make on it. Though Rick continually insisted she could stop helping any time if she was no longer having fun or their schedule felt too grueling, Kate never thought once about quitting.

For Kate, the process of working on a book was completely different than anything she had ever done before. Sure, it was frustrating at times, but it was also exciting and highly entertaining. Even if it had been grueling, she could not have stopped, for seeing the difference it made in her friend made it all worthwhile.

In just a few days, Rick's attitude had changed exponentially. She could see he was excited about the prospect of bettering his book—and himself in the process as well. Though he still had moments of self-doubt, she could see his confidence blossoming before her eyes—it showed in every inch of him from his expression to his posture. She truly felt that he was becoming the man he was meant to be and not the one he'd hid behind due to his childhood trauma.

They started slow, going a chapter at a time, with her selecting sections of the book and highlighting them for his reexamination. Sometimes, the reworking came easily to him; others it did not. During those times when he got frustrated, she had him talk out what he was trying to say. She quickly discovered that his obstruction came often times when he tried to type out the issue, but if he spoke he could do so eloquently, so he would say what he meant and Kate would jot down notes for him to use later when he was writing.

The process was by no means speedy, but the further in they got, the quicker it went. In three weeks they were a third of the way through the book. Kate told him she figured that they would be done by the end of summer; Rick seemed skeptical, but agreed they'd take it a chapter at a time nonetheless.

Once they reached the one-third milestone, Rick insisted that he and Kate celebrate their accomplishment by having her over for dinner to meet his mother, Martha. Evidently, she was quite insistent that she meet the woman helping her son. Though her tour with Pippen had been done for a few weeks, she had immediately set to work on another show, so their schedules just had not worked out until late June when they were able to plan a Sunday evening meal together.

Arriving at the apartment Rick shared with his mother, Kate had to admit to the slightest feeling of butterflies in her stomach. As much as Martha was looking forward to meeting her, Kate both looked forward to and dreaded meeting the woman. She could not even begin to fathom how the elder woman was able to handle her son's kidnapping, presumed death, and reentry into the world and come out the other side as a sane individual. Had she been in Martha's shoes, she was not sure she would be able to recover, though perhaps it was as Rick had once said: you survive because you have to.

"Kate. Good evening. And I'm sorry."

She blinked at her host as she stepped into his apartment. "Sorry?"

He bobbed his head. "My mother started drinking while we were cooking and she's already two glasses of wine in. So, I'm sorry; I have no idea what all she'll say to you."

Kate chuckled. "Oh."

"Oh look at you gorgeous thing!"

Kate turned towards the direction of the new voice and spotted Rick's mother in the kitchen, glass of white wine in her hand. She had fiery orange hair and wore a loud, multi colored tunic over eggplant colored leggings. It appeared Rick's description of her being "quite theatrical" was right on the money.

"Come here, darling, come here. Don't be shy!"

"It's very nice to meet you Ms. Castle."

Kate extended her hand to the woman, but Martha bypassed it and pulled her immediately into a hug. "Please, darling, call me Martha. I feel like I already know you with everything Richard has told me about you. I half expected you to show up with wings and a halo."

"Mother." Rick said in a tone edged with embarrassment.

She shrugged. "It's true."

"Why don't we just eat?" he suggested, presumably to prevent his mother from embarrassing him further.

The trio sat around the wooden table and Kate was positively stunned to be presented what looked like a high end restaurant quality meal of pork chops and assorted sides. When she commented on how impressive it looked, Rick thanked her; evidently he was solely responsible for the cooking. He had made them meals before, but all had been relatively simple casseroles; nothing nearly as complex. Apparently he decided to go a bit fancier for their celebratory meal.

"My son, the chef." Martha commented. "Course if it was up to me we'd be having takeout."

"It's summer; we're eating fresh vegetables," Rick said in a rather exhausted tone, as though he and his mother had a similar discussion many times in the past. "Yes, it's tight on the budget, but if you lived on canned ravioli and fruit cocktail for seven years you might feel differently."

While Martha did not seem to bat an eyelash at his comment, Kate remained rather frozen with her knife and fork stuck into her pork chop. She almost held her breath, waiting for something unhappy to occur, but nothing did. Rick evidently noticed her expression and asked her what was wrong. "Nothing; nothing. I just…I wasn't sure how comfortable you were with talking about it."

"If we didn't talk about it, we probably would have gone insane long ago." Martha informed her before taking a long drink from her wine glass.

"It's okay, Kate." Rick assured her. She looked over at him for confirmation. "We generally don't talk about it unless we're by ourselves, but that's only because no one knows, but you do. It's actually…nice; a relief."

A smile that mirrored his crossed her face and she nodded before turning back to her meal. Though Rick and his mother seemed okay with it, Kate still did not want to want to encourage such unsettling topics of conversation, so she asked Martha about her play and acting career, which had Rick preemptively groaning, "Oh here we go." Martha then spent the remainder of their meal detailing every role she ever had, or so it seemed, but Kate didn't mind; it appeared she was equally as entertaining a storyteller as her son.

Later, as Rick was putting away the leftovers, Martha pulled Kate aside and gave her another hug saying, "I don't know how I can ever thank you enough for what you've done for my son; I came home to a different man."

"Oh," she said, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks. "I'm not sure I can take all the credit for that."

Looking her squarely in the eye, Martha said, "You can and you should."

Though she did not completely agree, Kate nodded and thanked the elder woman. Though she knew some of Rick's development over the prior months had been entirely his own, she was glad to see that the person who knew him best in the world had seen positive change in him as well. Hopefully, with all the progress he had made, he would not backslide into the uncertain man she had met as he handed her a cup of coffee nearly a year earlier.

"So, Kate, can I get you more wine?"

"Oh." She glanced tentatively towards her mostly empty second glass of the beverage. "I probably shouldn't; I have the early shift tomorrow."

"You can go ahead and fill me up, kiddo." Martha chimed in.

"I assumed." He chuckled, dutifully handing over the bottle.

Kate walked over to Rick and gave him a quick hug. "Thanks for dinner and I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

He winked at her. "Bright and early; I'll have your drink waiting."

Two weeks later, Kate and Rick sat side by side on a boardwalk bench at Coney Island. The day was sweltering and each held ice cream cones that were steadily dripping the milky substance all over their hands and wrists, though neither seemed to mind. Kate was simply pleased to see Rick smiling and laughing.

The prior week had been difficult with him hitting a major roadblock in the reworking of his book. He had wanted to throw in the towel completely and give up, but she had simply suggested that they take a break. In discussing what they could do instead, Kate discovered that in the prior few years Rick had not had anything that resembled a vacation, which naturally led her to suggest he take one. Unfortunately, his finances did not allow such luxuries so Kate suggested Coney Island, which while not quite a vacation, still involved a break and some much needed fun.

Though Rick remained hesitant, as soon as she got him onto the boardwalk she noticed the tightness in his shoulders relenting and he began to smile and point out all the laughing children and dogs that he saw. Kate was glad to see him having fun, but in a way it made her the smallest bit sad. Going to Coney Island with friends and eating hot dogs, fries, and cotton candy until you were sick was almost a rite of passage as a teenager—one that he missed entirely.

From that moment on she decided to give him the best Coney Island day possible—suggesting that they ride rides and play games and eat nothing healthy the entire day. Rick had agreed and as the day went on, Kate found out that Rick had actually been on a vacation since returning to the real world after confessing she feared he had not.

Apparently, when he turned twenty-eight and realized he'd been back experiencing life again for a decade only to realize he had not experienced all that much he decided to go on a cross country trip. He took a large portion of the money he'd saved up from working various jobs—money that he had originally earmarked towards community college—and toured across the United States, traveling as cheaply as he could and picking up odd jobs here and there for over six months. Kate admitted to being both stunned and impressed that he would embark on such a journey, but her brushed it off saying it was something he felt he had to do. Though he traveled mostly on his own, he had seen more than he fathomed possible as he sat in the same dilapidated space for the better part of seven years.

When Rick finished his cone, he relaxed back against the bench, draping his right arm across the back of it, and crossing legs so that his right ankle rested just above his left knee. Kate glanced down as he did this and noticed there was something amiss with his leg. She stared at it for several seconds before she was able to place what she was seeing. His right ankle was oddly shaped—almost too straight or too small when compared to the rest of his body. Without even thinking, she said, "Is there something wrong with your ankle? It looks weird."

"Uh, thanks."

As his tone was clearly sarcastic, she apologized quickly, but he shook her off, rubbing his left hand over the body part in question.

"The doctor said the shackles probably hindered their growth a bit so they're both a little misshapen—the right worse than the left. Not a big medical problem, except I probably won't be a pro basketball player."

Kate immediately felt her face flush—and not from the heat. She hadn't even thought about the strangeness of his ankles relating to his kidnapped time. What an idiot she was! Again, she apologized. "I'm so sorry; I never even…" She shook her head as she thought back to their original conversation when he talked about being chained up in the barn. "When you said you were chained up I assumed it was by your wrists."

"No it was my feet—alternating feet; only one was ever chained at a time."

She nodded and then asked, "Do…do you have any other scars?" but quickly backtracked with, "Sorry you don't have to answer that."

He leaned forward and rested both his forearms against his crossed-over lower leg. "I'm not sure that's a story for Coney Island."

Of course it wasn't! That day was meant to be happy—distracting. Then she had to go and ruin it with her ridiculous investigator's curiosity. "Sorry."

He looked over at her. "You don't need to apologize, Kate. I don't mind you asking. My therapist always says it's good to talk about it in a safe environment and I know that means you. I'll tell you about it someday, I promise."

She nodded and then reached over to place her hand on his forearm. Brushing her thumb against the soft hair there she said, "Thanks for saying you trust me with your story."

His eyes remained steadily locked with hers as he said, "I trust you with anything."