Finding the Fit Chapter 92
By the time the foreperson reads the jury's decision on the last of the federal charges against William H. Bracken, her voice is hoarse, and her arms tremble from holding up the list so long. When the judge asks, "So say you one, so say you all?" the jury affirms the verdict with relief.
Relief comes slowly but profoundly to Kate as she leaves the courtroom on Rick's arm. In a crowd thick with reporters, they couldn't move quickly if they tried, but they aren't trying. After what seemed endless weeks of testimony, 12 men and women agreed on what Kate knew to the depths of her soul. Bracken was guilty of crimes almost too horrendous to describe. Still, Elizabeth Westmore and her staff ensured that the combination of witnesses and documentation had done just that.
Kate was one of those witnesses, although much more briefly than she had imagined. She testified to the finding and securing of the journals. Another witness, a handwriting expert, testified to their authenticity so they could be entered into evidence. For much of the rest of the trial, witnesses to, and participants in, the crimes Bracken described testified to the details and Bracken's involvement. Some of that made front pages – the whole front pages – of national newspapers and websites, complete with photos of Vulcan Simmons in his gold-adorned glory. Many of the details were relegated to below-the-fold or even sidebars or secondary stories.
The flow of politicians and supporters seeking to distance themselves from Bracken as his behind-the-scenes machinations were exposed became a flood. One reporter compared it to Peter denying he knew Jesus and wondered if the public would hear a cock crow three times. It seemed that the heretofore proud cocks of the roost were fleeing from public view as fast as their scaley legs could carry them.
After finally reaching a nondescript and anonymous sedan Rick rented, Kate sinks into the passenger seat while he slides behind the wheel. "Our go-bags are in the trunk. Where do you want to go?" he asks. "The reporters probably have your apartment staked out, and they've been showing up on Broome Street, too. We could try the Four Seasons. They would put us in a VIP suite under an assumed name. My mother told me they always have one or two standing by for celebrities ducking the paparazzi. She has friends who've used them."
Kate shakes her head. "I don't want anywhere that public or with that many people around. We could drive up to my father's cabin. He keeps it pretty well stocked, and it will be too cold on the lake for anyone to hang around on the slim chance of getting a story. But there's enough wood to heat the place."
"You'll have to give the GPS an address, but the Beckett cabin it will be," Rick agrees.
With increasing distance from the city, Kate feels herself relax and starts gazing at the scenery. "I never realized how beautiful this drive could be. When I came with Dad as a kid, I was always playing a spot the license plate game or something. And if I was driving I was more worried about road hazards, especially in the falling rock zones. But I never thought about how beautiful those rock formations could be. I must have been on the Thruway dozens of times, but I feel like I've never really seen it before."
"I saw a Man Of La Mancha performance once," Rick recalls. "Aldonza tells Don Quixote to take the clouds from his eyes. Bracken clouded a lot of eyes with his 'man of the people' act. In a way, yours were like Don Quixote's, clouded by your mission. But instead of seeing beauty where there was harsh reality, as he did, your search for harsh reality kept you from enjoying a lot of beauty. But you can still catch up. Cold or not, I bet the lake is lovely."
"That part of my trips up there as a kid, I remember. It is lovely. I was happy there."
"And you'll be happy there again," Rick promises.
Rick is relieved that the road to the cabin is paved, as is the area in front where he parks the car. He hadn't anticipated coping with rough terrain and hadn't asked for a vehicle designed to handle it. Much as had been the case at Dark Lake, a boat is secured to a small pier a short walk away. The wind, however, is considerably cooler. He was grateful for their brief stop to pick up warmer clothing. The wool Pendleton in one of the plaids he's always liked does an excellent job blocking the chill. Kate's jacket appears to be doing a sufficient job as well. He notes with satisfaction a sizable woodpile in a covered area at the cabin's side. With their go-bags their primary cargo, there isn't much to bring inside, and they easily make it in one trip.
Kate gazes around the cabin. It looks a little smaller, but otherwise, as she remembered it. A down comforter tops a double bed. Fortunately, neither Castle nor any of the Becketts are allergic to feathers. As a child, Kate had always slept on a cot which is still folded against one wall. "We should start a fire in the stove. Dad always leaves it prepared." She opens the door of the wood burner and finds her father had done just that. Kindling a merry blaze takes her very little time.
Rick peers into an insulated bag picked up in the same little town where they bought their jackets. "The chicken, ribs, and corn are still warm, Beckett. Hungry?"
"Starving. Dad and I couldn't clean the fish fast enough while Mom was getting a salad or coleslaw ready. I was always starving when I was here."
"Sounds healthy – and happy – to me. And fortunately, we don't have to wait for anything. The food is fully prepared to enter our gaping maws. All we have to do is unpack it." He points to a sturdy wood table. "Is there something here to cover that?"
"We have a tablecloth I made as a craft project in fourth grade. It's terrible, but my parents insisted on using it anyway." Kate lays out the childishly embroidered fabric.
"That's, um, very creative – and adorable," Rick says, arranging the food containers on young Kate's handiwork.
Kate wipes the barbecue sauce from her mouth with a contented sigh. "That was great."
"I don't think I've ever seen you this relaxed," Rick says, "even after we played very adult versions of Twister."
"I don't think I have been since that terrible day when Mom never showed up to meet Dad and me for dinner." Kate pulls her chain from under her blouse and fingers the promise ring. "Castle, I think I'm ready now to, um, accept your promise. I want your promise."
"You have it. You know that. But is that all you want, Beckett?"
Kate's eyes flick to the bed. "Babe, I think I need to digest a little before we…."
"That's not what I meant, at least not at this particular moment." Rick pulls a box from his pocket. He drops to one knee on the plank floor. "Katherine Houghton Beckett, I love you. I want you in my life. I want you in my life always." Rick flips open the box, revealing a diamond ring circled by amethysts. "Will you marry me?"
Kate reaches down to cradle his face in her hands. "Richard Alexander Rodgers Castle, I will marry you." Unconsciously shaking her hair back, she leans in for a kiss.
Rising to his feet, Rick takes her in his arms for a complete melding of their bodies. When they finally have to part slightly to breathe, he reaches into another pocket and pulls out the combs from Duke Prebble's emporium of eclectic goods. "Here. They match the ring. And we can continue with your hair out of your face."
Kate's uninhibited laughter fills the cabin.