Lakeside Cottage

She poured a second helping of Total and noticed Kate watching her. “I shouldn’t,” she said. “I’m getting fat as a pig.” But she added milk and sugar anyway. “What about you? Do you have plans today?”

“I might take Aaron hiking up to Marymere Falls. Have you seen it?”

“No. I’ve heard it’s pretty up there. Maybe I could go on my day off.”

“I should also get some work done,” Kate said, glancing at the silent black rectangle of the laptop.

“Have you figured out what you’re going to write yet?”

“I’ve got a few ideas.”

“I still think you should do Walden Livingston,” Callie said. “He’s like, this totally famous cult guy.”

“I know. He still gets mail from some of his fans,” Kate said. “Just a few, every year.”

“He’s the reason I picked this house to stay in, you know,” Callie said. “When I saw the Annie Leibovitz photo of him and figured out that this was his place, I was totally blown away. His books are, like, sacred to people who care about the earth.”

Kate never failed to be startled by this girl. She was a combination of streetwise runaway and naive idealist, incredibly well read in some areas and completely ignorant in others. “Not many young people are aware of Walden Livingston. How did you hear of him?”

“I was placed with a couple who made environmentalism,like, their whole life, and old Walden was their number one man. They had a signed copy of the book he wrote and a book of his collected quotations. You know, ‘Leave no trail for a future traveler, let him find his own way’ and all that. Did he really talk like that?”

Kate rested her chin in her hand and studied the Leibovitz portrait, which hung on the wall by the door. The picture captured the twinkle in his eye, the dramatic sweep of his snowy hair, which he’d told her was once as red as her own. His face had a geography as distinctive as the land itself, and Leibovitz’s eye brought that out. I miss you, she thought, then turned to Callie. “I’m not even sure he said all those things.”

“Did he seem, like, completely different from other people, in real life?”

“Good question.” Kate smiled, remembering. “Maybe he did. To me, he was just Grandpa. That’s about as special as it gets for a kid.”

“I’ve only met my grandparents one time.”

“Do you think you’d like to visit them again one day?”

Callie took a big bite of cereal and regarded Kate with wariness.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Kate said.

“Then why did you ask?”

“I’m curious, I admit it. I want to know about your life.”

Callie considered this for a moment. She set down her spoon and pushed the bowl away. “Here’s what I know about my grandparents, the ones on my mother’s side. They never did find my dad, so his parents were out of the question. When Brother Timothy got busted and the commune broke up, my mom and I came to Washington. She was so broke, she went to her folks in Tacoma and just ditched me there. Didn’t even say goodbye or say where she was going.”

Kate ached for her. “I’m sorry, Callie.”

The girl shrugged. “No big deal. I’m totally over it. Anyway, they called CPS—Child Protective Services. They said they couldn’t take me. I bet your grandfather wasn’t like that.”

“No,” Kate said. “He was … magical. I feel so lucky to have known him.”

“Did you know he was different?”

“I don’t think I really concerned myself with his life’s work. I know he had a lot of demands on his time. He traveled pretty much all during the school year.” She went to the bookcase and got a leather-bound album, the one devoted to her grandfather’s career.

Together, she and Callie perused the photographs, magazine clippings and newspaper articles. There was an entire page devoted to pictures of Walden posing or shaking hands with U.S. presidents, from Lyndon Johnson through Ronald Reagan. He had managed to get each one to sign some sort of legislation to help the environment.

“Man,” said Callie, “I wonder what it would be like to do something so big, so important with your life.”

“I don’t think he could imagine doing it any other way.” Although Walden had always been beloved by activists concerned with saving the earth, he had disappointed his parents by failing to take up the reins of the family business. When the family business was timber, and the eldest son’s passion was conservation, it must have made for some unhappy times, especially when he spent most of the family fortune on his cause, but all that had happened before Kate’s time. She studied Callie, whose coloring looked better now that she’d eaten. There was a question beneath Callie’s question about Walden—Am I anybody? Do I matter?

“Callie, what’s your mother like?” Kate knew it was risky to broach the subject, but she sensed that it was at the heart of the girl’s troubles. “That is, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s fine. I don’t have much to say, though. She’s a loser and I don’t miss her one bit.” A car horn sounded, and Callie jumped up. “Gotta bounce,” she said. “I’ll be back by seven.”

“Don’t forget your lunch.” At the door, Kate handed her a paper sack.

Callie gave her a stark look of gratitude, then headed for the door.

Kate knew the girl didn’t have much kindness in her life. Even the smallest act of thoughtfulness came as a surprise to her. Kate found herself wishing that someone had loved Callie as a little girl, had fixed a sack lunch for her and told her goodbye in the morning. She was convinced that if everyone could have that in their life, the world would be a better place. The thought made her glance at the computer. No, she thought. No. One crusader in the family is enough. She needed to get her own act together before saving the world.

She closed the album, and used a soft cloth to clean the old leather covers and the edges of the pages. Her grandfather had led an important life. She was supposed to do the same, with her big plans for a big career. Things had worked out differently for her.

Just then, Aaron came bursting into the house, dancing around at the boot tray to kick off his shoes. “Mom!” he yelled. “Hey, Mom!”

“I’m right here,” she said. “You don’t have to shout.”

“Okay. I found a fossil.” He hurried over and showed her a stone imprinted with some beetlelike shell.

“You sure did, buddy,” Kate said. “Where did you find it?”

“In 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 not telling her,” JD said. Just the thought gave him flashbacks. After weeks of recuperation and physical therapy, he had looked forward to being discharged—both from the service and from the hospital. He planned a new life for himself—medical school, an old dream that had been resurrected by his brush with death. Becoming a doctor was something he always thought he’d do … someday. The incident with Muldoon was a stark reminder that it was a bad idea to put off “someday.” But once he was discharged, his troubles were far from over. In fact, they had only begun.

“You can’t stay underground forever.”

“Let’s hope I don’t need to.” JD got out of his truck and paced the parking lot. A family of four crossed in front of him, oblivious to his presence. The woman pushed a stroller while the man carried a small boy on his shoulders. They were laughing, and the boy was clapping his hands.

JD had seen families do terrible things to each other, and he knew love could turn to a poison as lethal as anthrax. Even so, there was a diehard inside him that could not stop wishing, hoping, yearning to be part of something bigger than himself—a family.

“You won’t need to stay away that long,” Sam assured him. “Your fifteen minutes of fame are nearly over.”

“Good.”

“You’ll start finding discontinued Jordan Donovan Harris action figures for sale on eBay.”

“Okay, now you’re starting to tick me off.”

Sam laughed. “Listen, enjoy the summer. Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m good. In my dreams, I never imagined a place like this existed.”

“It’s something else, isn’t it?” Sam said. “Listen, quit worrying about the future. Everything’s going to be fine.”

His change in tone was so subtle that only JD, who knew Sam like a brother, detected it. “All right,” he said, pacing in front of his truck. “What’s going on?”

“You, um, remember Private Glaser?”

“Hell, yes.” Glaser was the first casualty he and Sam had treated together in the field. “Why would you.” He stopped pacing and shuffled through his mail, fury snagging in his chest when he opened a large manila envelope and found himself staring at a gossip magazine with a photograph of himself as a young Green Beret medic, years ago in Afghanistan. “What the fuck is this?” he demanded.

“Ah,” said Sam, “I see you found the latest sleazefest.”

The black-and-white photograph depicted three young men—JD, a marine he’d dragged in from battle and Sam. “God, Sam,” he asked, his voice grating with disbelief.

“I figured I should send it. Most of the stuff they publish is pure fiction, but that one you might want to take a look at.”

Sweat trickled down his temples as he flipped open the issue and scanned the article. The article was illustrated with more photographs and a bunch of hyperbolic pull-out quotes. “This is Glaser’s story, isn’t it?” He scowled at the pictures of Max Glaser, the marine in the front-page photo. The man whose life Sam and JD had saved, long ago in the mountains of Konar Province in Afghanistan. They’d never seen him again after that incident, but apparently being rescued by Jordan Donovan Harris was enough to warrant a lead story.

“Yo,” said Sam, “you still with me?”

“I’m here.” JD shook off the memory and set down the magazine. He felt like wiping his hand on his pant leg, shampooing his brain. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the whipped-cream peaks of the mountains visible beyond the Straits. “I thought you just said my fifteen minutes were nearly over.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re looking at this all wrong. Use it to make things happen, get what you want.”

Like a mother in rehab? he wondered.

“Instead of getting freaked out by all the attention, make it work for you,” Sam continued.

“Now you sound like Maurice Williams,” JD said, scowling as he spotted something from the West Hollywood agent amid the stack of mail. Taking Maurice’s advice had already gotten him more than he’d bargained for. He had signed with him because he’d been promised control over a feature film based on his life and the incident at Walter Reed. Naively, he thought this meant he’d be given discretion over whether or not the film was made. He’d nixed the project, only to discover the production company was going forward anyway.

“He’s got a point,” Sam said. “Because of what you did, you can make anything happen. Have you seen the bottom line on your foundation?”

“It’s not ‘my’ foundation.” It was a nonprofit foundation set up in response to unsolicited donations that had inexplicably come pouring in following the incident. One of the positive by-products of his fame had been that the American people, for reasons that often went unstated, felt compelled to send him money. Checks, and even cash, arrived with no explanation, no return address or perhaps a scribbled note: “For basic decency.” “In appreciation.” There was a certain level of discomfort in being given money for doing what anyone would have done under the circumstances. He’d tried sending everything back, but there were too many, a number without any return information. He quickly became overwhelmed by the flood of mail.

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