Chapter Five
CATHERINE
Greenwich, 1970
After our first date, I saw Gabriel Haddad every single day. Sometimes just for a cup of coffee, sometimes for dinner, and sometimes for whatever we could accomplish in the front seat of a Corvette. If I’d ever been happier in my life, I had no recollection of it. I caught myself smiling and laughing when no one was around. Writing his name on pages in my journal and nothing else.
Six weeks into our relationship, Gabriel led me through the doorway of a hotel room at the Stanton House Inn on Maple Avenue. I’d told our housekeeper, Jessie, I was sleeping at Laura’s that night—something I did at least twice a week—so there was no reason for her to question me.
The room was quintessential Greenwich. Pink-and-green bedding matched a set of lime-colored throw rugs covering large square sections of the hardwood floors. There were rose-covered curtains, striped wallpaper, and a fireplace on the back wall. A combination of wicker and pine furniture was carefully placed throughout the room, and a watercolor painting of the Long Island Sound hung above an upholstered headboard.
Gabriel placed the key on a dresser once we were inside. “You look beautiful,” he said.
A stack of folded towels lay on the end of the four-poster bed, and a pitcher of water and two tumblers sat on the nightstand. By the windows were a pair of swivel chairs with a side table in between, and atop that were two crystal flutes and an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne. I placed my purse on one of the chairs.
Gabriel uncorked the champagne and poured me a glass. There was an obvious dance going on between us. He would pace the room, making small talk about work and friends he meant to visit in East Hampton before heading to Chicago, where it had been settled he’d live. Occasionally, he’d pause and kneel in front of me and kiss my hands before pacing the room some more, guzzling more of his drink, telling me about his week, and refilling our glasses.
“I have some exciting news,” I said, my head tingly after finishing my second glass.
“Oh?” He sat on the bed.
“I’m going to be writing a weekly column for the Greenwich Times.”
His face lit up. “Well, well, well. That is wonderful news. Good for you!” He cocked his head and clapped.
“Thank you.” I placed my empty glass on the side table.
“What will it be about? What is your topic?”
“So far, just some local stories. Places to shop, popular outdoor cafés and pubs. Things of that sort. Gotta work my way up to the grittier stories—like most popular dog breeders in Lower Fairfield County.”
He snickered. “You should be very proud of yourself.”
“I am, thank you,” I said and stood. Little did I know that I would never write even one article.
Reading my body language, he walked over to me.
Gabriel placed his hands loosely on my cheeks, kissed my lips, and leaned his body into mine. I gently pulled away.
“Can we lie down?” I whispered.
“Of course,” he said and took my hand, but not before kissing it. “You, my darling, are in charge of me tonight.”
We lay down on the bed, and he bent over and placed his lips on my neck. A whiff of his cologne proved more intoxicating than the champagne. We stared into each other’s eyes as his hand slowly went to the hem of my skirt. My breathing intensified, and my body tensed when his hand found its way underneath. It was not the first time a man had been there, but it was the first time I was eager to give myself to anyone so completely.
I was a rule follower, a mostly good student, a girl who strived to make her parents proud, or at least hold their attention for five minutes. The minute I found passion in the form of Gabriel Haddad, I latched onto it with every ounce of my being. I risked everything I’d ever had to hold on to that sensation, to trap it because I’d waited patiently for it, and I was not going to leave it behind for anything. I grew up feeling strong, yes, but ordinary more. As the eldest daughter, I was replaced almost every other year with a newer, shinier girl, forcing me into the role of caretaker and example leader without my consent. Gabriel made me feel confident and independent and wanted.
“Are you OK?” he paused to ask.
I nodded with conviction, both thrilled and terrified. In only a few weeks, my heart and soul had become his puppets. When I was with him, I could barely focus on anything else, and when I was without him, all I could think about was how long I had to wait to be with him again. When would he pick up the strings and bring me to life again? We were as inseparable as his work—and my mother—allowed, but it was never enough for me. And poor Laura—we’d had so many plans to visit the Cape and travel to Boston to visit friends, and I’d bailed on all of them. I’d become one of those miserable lovesick women. Having Gabriel’s attention made me feel like I could conquer the world.
I took a deep breath, lifted my skirt, and placed my hand firmly on his for a second before removing it and curling my arm next to my ear. He read my expression and slid his fingers under the fabric of my underwear, watching my body respond to his touch. Quickly, he pulled away, removed his shirt, and stood beside the bed wearing only his shorts. “Please.” He held out a hand. “Stand up.”
Gabriel removed my camisole and then gently spun me around and unhitched my bra, letting it drop to the floor. He stepped closer and wrapped his hands around my body from behind, placing them between my breasts as my heart continued to beat at an embarrassingly rapid pace.
The anticipation was wonderfully agonizing. His hands slid from my chest to my waist. “Lie down,” he instructed while kissing the nape of my neck.
I lay on the bed again and watched him remove his shorts before kneeling over me. I shimmied out of my skirt and then my slip and helped him slide my underwear off. Gabriel bent forward and took one of my breasts between his lips. My breath intensified, and I tightened my grip on his shoulders, closing my eyes. He tenderly squared my waist, then kissed his way from my chin to my chest again and down to my stomach before sitting up. I let out a small breath and clutched the sheets with my hands as he moved himself inside me, gently at first, and then harder after seeking permission with his eyes. He lowered his mouth on my breast and steadied himself as he tended to every part of my body. My limbs relaxed, and he increased his speed until we collapsed together.
My nose searched for a trace of his cologne, and I nearly wept when I found it.
Afterward, he covered me with the sheet and fetched a glass of water.
“I love you, Catherine Clarke,” he told me. “More than I can express with just those words, this room, and this night together. More than I can say with my lips and my body and my heart.” He sat on the edge of the bed and touched my hair. “I hope you know that.”
“I love you, too.” Tears were running down my cheeks. “So much.”
Four weeks later, we eloped and moved to Chicago. We’d been in the city only a few months when I found out I was pregnant.