Reconcilable Differences: A 'Having It All' Novel (41 page)

“So… to my fellow mediators,
despite your particular skills and methods, your vast experience and excellent
communication skills, I would ask you to remember this… That behind every proud
and stubborn facade, underlying every position, is a human heart in need of
understanding, forgiveness, and love.”

The room broke into enthusiastic applause.

“Thank you.”

Kate waited at the podium for the applause to die down.
She glanced again at the beautiful cut crystal trophy resting beside her hand,
and cast her gaze around the elegant ballroom, acknowledging the smiles and
nods of her familiar colleagues and their partners.

“Thank you very much.”

At last, she gripped her award, picked up her loose
notes, and stepped down from the podium. Already people were rising and moving
toward her. She shifted her award to her left hand in order to accept
handshakes, a giddy thrill running through her as her eyes fell on the antique
ring on her left hand, a sparkling treasure even more precious to her than the
cut crystal trophy, and harder earned.

“Ms. O’Day. That was wonderfully inspiring.” A younger
woman pressed closer. “I loved that quote about the light. What was it again?”

Kate turned to her. “Ellis French, isn’t it?” The young
woman beamed and nodded. Kate smiled. She was a bit of a celebrity tonight, at
least among her peers. “It goes ’
The wound is the place where the Light
enters you.
’ By Rumi.”

“Lovely metaphor. So true.”

“I agree,” murmured a grey-bearded middle-aged man to her
other side. “Human beings are rather fragile creatures who carry the battle
scars of their lives with them as they venture forth.”

“Yes, but…” the keen young mediator jumped in.

He held up his hand, silencing her. “Don’t think I’m
contradicting Ms. O’Day.” He turned to Kate, pressing her hand with his. “On
the contrary, your speech was an important reminder that human beings are
rather strong and resilient, and somehow do manage to carry on no matter how
much damage they have sustained. In doing so, they build up walls around their
hearts, and don a formidable armour to protect them from further damage.”

“Yes, we do, sir. Unfortunately it’s these protective
barriers that often keep us apart. Apart from others, and apart from knowledge
of ourselves, even though this is not in our best interests.”

“This is the what Rumi meant, Ms. French. Knowing this
gives us a way in, a way to help them find forgiveness and redemption. As you
have so consistently done, Ms. O’Day. Congratulations. Well-deserved.”

“That’s a great compliment coming from you, Dr. Howard,”
Kate said. “Thank you so much.”

“Let the girl breath, Leonard.”

Kate’s eyes touched on a smiling Rose McIlhaney as she
approached and swept Kate into a soft mother-bear hug. Her familiar, comforting
voice rumbled in Kate’s ear.

“Well done, my dear. Well done.”

“Thank you so much, Rose. For everything. I wouldn’t be
here without you.”

Rose tutted and shielded her as she guided her back to a
round table to the left of the podium. Kate’s eyes came to rest on Simon
waiting patiently while she enjoyed her moment in the sun.

His grinning face was suffused with pride, his clear blue
eyes shining with a love so clear and unconditional, it could not be denied. He
stood and swept her into an embrace.

“Congratulations, my love.”

“Oh, you feel so good.” She squeezed her arms tighter
around his warmth and solidity.

He pulled back and touched his lips to hers, chastely,
but she felt the magnetic pull of his desire for more. “How soon can you escape
your fans?”

Kate’s cell phone, sitting by her place on the table,
buzzed. Simon picked it up, glanced at it and shot her a sly grin. “There. I
don’t have to beg you to leave. Alexa is doing it for me. She says, ‘
I’m so
proud of you, honey! Hurry up and join me for a drink to celebrate.
’”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

“You did. But I wish we could go straight home and
celebrate by ourselves.” He leaned down and kissed her again, more deeply this
time.

“Mmmm. Me too.”

He sighed. “Tonight is for you. And I have a sitter. I
don’t want to short-change you. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

“If we’re still awake.”

“Well, there’s always tomorrow. Or the day after that.”
He kissed her again, the corner of his beautiful mouth pulling up in a teasing
smile. “Or the day after that.”

“I can’t wait until I can move in and we can be together
every night.”

“It won’t come soon enough for me. Then we can get to
work making babies so we’ll never have to go out again.”

“Gah! You don’t mean that.” She swatted him. “Let’s go
meet Alex before you have me barefoot in the kitchen.”

“Never! Your people need you. I’ll have to learn to share.”
His laughter warmed her down to her toes, and seeped into every crack and
crevice in her heart, healing her, filling her up.

Her heart swelled with joy, gratitude and a love so deep,
she could no longer doubt that this was her new reality. That when she walked
away from this podium, this special night, Simon would be beside her, and they
would take their next steps, and the ones after that, together, hand in hand.

This book has been around for a
long, long time, and so the list of people to whom I owe thanks is long indeed.

To all my teachers and mentors, to all my writing peers
from whom I’ve learned so much and who welcomed me into the most supportive
tribe imaginable, to the Halloween Writers who were my first critique group,
the Marvelous Mountain Mavens, Michele, Donna & Joanna, who have supported
me and championed my career, to my Atta Girl partner Kyla with whom I can
discuss, apparently, anything, and who dares to push me that extra little bit,
and to my family, who have allowed me to be the eccentric writer in their
midst, neglecting them and burning dinner with regularity– Thank you.

Thanks also to the first editor of this manuscript,
Elizabeth Lyon, and the last editor of this manuscript, Eileen Cook, both
brilliant and insightful ladies, as well as all the contest judges and beta
readers who offered constructive criticism through the years – you helped me so
much, and made the story better and better with each iteration. But of course,
any shortcomings in the story remain my own responsibility in the end.

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My early loves included two
things: books and art. In my world view, blank white pages, and even blank
white walls, were begging for my creations.

Neither of these passions have waned, despite all the
other things that have happened in the meantime. I wrote my first romance novel
at the age of nine, but soon abandoned both writing and drawing (because apparently
they were frivolous pursuits doomed to make me a pauper) for a career in
architecture, and then an academic career in environmental gerontology. Tiring
of both, and still none the richer, I have returned to myfirst loves, writing
and painting.