the woods.” He held it out to her. “You can keep it if you want,” he said. “For a present.”
“Hey, thanks,” she said, putting away the album. She was doing something important with her life, she reflected, taking the offering from her son. What was more important than this?
Eight
“Kate Livingston,” JD said into his cell phone as soon as Sam answered. “What can you tell me about her?”
He had driven into town to buy some fly-fishing supplies and check his mail. Having nothing to do all day, every day, was keeping him extremely busy.
“Katie Livingston in the big house down the road?” Sam gave a low whistle. “I haven’t thought about her in years. You’ve met her?”
“Yeah. So what do you know?”
There was a muffled sound as Sam moved on his end, perhaps to get out of earshot of his wife or kids. “That I used to be in love with her,” he said in a strained whisper.
“How’s that?” JD grinned and shook his head. Sam was big-hearted and completely unafraid of his emotions. Since JD had known him, he’d fallen in and out of love a half-dozen times, soaring to the height of joy and plummeting to the depths of despair with reckless abandon. Finally, a few years back, he’d fallen for Penny, a civilian contractor, and announced to JD that he’d found his final soul mate. He’d kept his promise, too, lavishing her and their kids with adoration and reveling in both the struggles and pleasures of family life.
“Seventh grade,” he confessed. “She was a year younger. I had a giant crush on her. When I was a hormonal twelve-year-old, the sight of her in a bikini could put me in a coma. God, she was cute. Red hair and freckles. Later, when we were in high school.” He gave a low whistle.
“That doesn’t exactly answer my question.” Now thoughts of an adult Kate in a bikini crowded into his head.
“Damn. Little Katie Livingston. I was nuts for her, every summer. She still incredibly hot?”
Oh, yeah, he thought. “You’re a married man.”
“Who intends to stay that way. So … is she?”
“She’s.” JD looked out his truck window. The Strait of Juan de Fuca was a flat, glossy blue, dotted by freighters heading for open water. He tried to think of a word for Kate Livingston. Down, Simba. “Smoking hot still works for her.”
Another whistle. “Man. I haven’t thought about her in years.”
“I borrowed her ice chest. Long story. She’s got a kid. Looks to be around ten years old or so.” “Husband?” “I didn’t meet one.”
“If she goes by the name Livingston, she’s probably single. Comes from an old, old lake family. The Livingston place is legendary. Huge. It’s been there for almost a century. The family fortune was made during Prohibition. Timber and Canadian whiskey. Not very politically correct but it put them on the map—for a while, at least. I think subsequent generations managed to spend it all, but they kept that lake house. I lost track of Katie, though. I went into the service and I heard she went to college. She was some kind of genius and we all thought she’d do something big with her life.
“Is the whole family there?” Sam asked.
“No, but she had a kid,” JD pointed out. “That’s big.”
“Hard to believe she never married.”
“Why is it hard?”
“You met her. You tell me. What’s she like now?”
Beautiful, thought JD. Kind and funny and a little bit vulnerable. Completely wrong for him in every way he could think of. The whole world was wrong for him, he reflected. That was the thing about what he’d done. He didn’t regret it for a moment, but now he was a misfit wherever he went.
To Sam, he said, “She seems like … a nice person.”
“A nice person. Oh, that tells me a lot.”
“Like I said, I just ran into her one day.”
“You could do worse than her for a neighbor, my friend.”
JD said nothing, though he nodded his head. Sam was right. Judging by their first meeting, she was exactly the kind of woman any guy would fantasize about, a combination of girl-next-door and pole-dancer. “I believe I’ll spend the summer minding my own business,” he said.
“Bull. I can hear it in your voice. You’re into this woman. I can’t help you out, though. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her. You’ll have to do the work yourself.”
JD knew a challenge when he heard one. “I’ll pass. That’s not why I’m here. Besides, my track record is … hell, it’s scary.”
“Aw, come on. Don’t dismiss the entire female race over a few stalkers and loonies.”
“That’s the only kind I attract. How’s my number one fan, anyway?” JD braced himself.
“She’s still on that extended vacation, courtesy of the District of Columbia. No word, so I assume the recuperation’s going well.”
JD eased a breath of relief from his chest. Ever since the incident, events and circumstances had been shoving him toward the moment of decision, when he’d finally shattered and begged Sam to help him disappear. A young woman named Shirlene Ludlow had cut herself on purpose and nearly bled to death, just so she could call 911 and get Jordan Donovan Harris to come to her house. Not long after, the call came from California. His mother was using again. That night, he’d realized that not only had his privacy been stripped away from him; he was actually a danger to people like his mother and Shirlene Ludlow.
“So your cover’s still working?” Sam asked.
“As far as I can tell.”
“I knew it would. Maybe Katie Livingston will make your exile less lonely.”
Or more apparent, thought JD. At least she didn’t seem like the type to slit her wrists to get a guy’s attention. “Not likely,” he said.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Sam asked.
“This is not supposed to be fun,” JD said. “This is supposed to be a way to get my life back, or am I stupid to think that’s even possible?”
“Once you’ve been named one of People magazine’s 50 Most Beautiful People, it’s kind of hard to return to obscurity.”
“Not funny, Sam.”
“Listen, I don’t blame you for being snake bit after what happened with Tina.” Sam had been with JD through the entire ordeal at Walter Reed. He had been the only one contacted after the incident. JD had no next of kin to speak of, none he would ever contact, not even in the worst emergency. “But something tells me Kate is nothing like Tina.”
JD knew damn well he wasn’t ready for a new relationship, but there was something about Kate that drew him, almost against his will. Something about who she was, her whole world, tantalized and tugged at him. He didn’t even know her, but it was remarkable how much he’d projected onto meeting her that one time. “She’s got some teenager staying with her,” he told Sam. “You know anything about a Callie Evans?”
“Name doesn’t ring a bell.” Sam paused to tell one of his preschool-age boys to get his hand out of the fish tank. “Ever heard of Walden Livingston?”
“No.”
“Kate’s grandfather. He was some kind of activist who became a cult icon in the sixties.” “Yeah,” said JD. “So?”
“So she knows a celebrity puts on his pants one leg at a time just like any other poor slob.”
“I’m