in Rome, right?” She slaps her thighs and yells, “Whoooooo, what a rush! That’s the most fun I’ve had with my clothes on in a long time.”
“Yeah, loads of fun,” I mutter, but her excitement is contagious. Her face is flushed like a sprinter’s, and her breath comes in short gasps.
“I assume that deputy was a friend of yours?”
“I’d say he’s a friend of ours.” I give her a hard look. “We still have a deal, right? No story about that little altercation in tomorrow’s paper?”
“Absolutely. No story.” She pokes me in the shoulder. “I told you I could hold my own.”
“I’m afraid that was just the first round. It’ll get a lot worse.”
Her smile doesn’t waver. “We can handle it.” She gets out of the car and closes the door, then leans into the open passenger window. “Would you be furious if I asked a personal question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Have you thought much about our kiss since last night?”
I’m glad for the dark. The black veil of her hair gleams in the window, framing her porcelain face, setting off her lips and eyes.
“Please tell me to drop dead if I’m out of line,” she says quickly. “It’s just … I’ve been thinking about it. It literally curled my toes. And I wanted you to know that.”
A pulse of pure pleasure spreads outward from my heart. How do I answer? Yes, I’ve thought about it a hundred times, in a way that’s not even thought but a constant awareness of how your mouth opened to mine, the coolness and knowingness of it—
“Would you like to go to Colorado with me tomorrow?”
She opens her mouth but makes no sound.
“I’m flying up to talk to the lead FBI agent on the Del Payton case in 1968. But part of your job will be baby-sitting Annie. She’s coming along.”
Caitlin is shaking her head in confusion. “Is this trip business or pleasure? Or a baby-sitting job?”
“I’m sorry—I didn’t put that very well. It’s business, but I’m taking Annie along for her safety, and we have a stop to make on the way. A place I can’t take her.”
“Where?”
“Huntsville, Texas. The Hanratty execution.”
Her eyes go wide. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. You can be there when I interview the agent, but I need you to stay at the hotel with Annie during the execution.”
“The hottest ticket in journalism this week, and I’m going to be baby-sitting?”
“They wouldn’t let you in the witness room anyway. It’s your call.”
She purses her lips in thought. “I’m still not sure how to think of this. Do you want me to come?”
“Very much.”
“Then I will. But what if Annie won’t stay in the hotel without you there?”
“Then I’ll skip the execution. I don’t really want to see it anyway.”
“She’ll be fine with me. We got along great on the plane. Hey, what’s this FBI agent’s name?”
Caitlin’s mention of that flight makes me remember her deception about her identity, and this makes me hesitant to confide Stone’s name. I wipe my bloody nose on my shirt-sleeve and look through the windshield.
“Penn, I could have the guy’s life story before we ever talk to him.”
She has a point. “Dwight Stone. Crested Butte, Colorado.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Her eyes are almost mocking, but they hold more understanding than I have seen in a long time.
“The answer to your earlier question is yes. I’ve thought about it since last night.”
A serene smile lights Caitlin’s face.
“And I’d like to kiss you again.”
Her smile broadens.
“May I?”
She leans through the window and across the passenger seat, her eyes not closed like last night but open, inviting me into them. Our lips touch, and a perfect echo of the warmth I felt last night rolls through me. This kiss is passionate but more intimate, the crossing of another boundary together. She pulls back and peers into my eyes, then closes hers and kisses me once more.
When she pulls away this time, she has a Charlie Chaplin mustache.
“You’ve got blood on your lip.”
“My first war wound.” She laughs. “It’ll wash off. What time do we leave?”
“Seven-thirty for the drive to Baton Rouge airport.”
She touches her forefinger to my nose, then pulls back through the window. “Pick me up at the paper. I’ll be ready.”
The trip to Baton Rouge airport takes eighty minutes, just enough time for Annie to adopt Caitlin as a big sister. Caitlin seems to know every TV character Annie does, outlandish names I can never keep up with but which Caitlin rattles off like the names of old friends. When I asked my mother if she thought Annie was ready for a trip to Colorado with Caitlin and me, she said, “Annie’s ready. Just make sure you are.” When I asked what this meant, she gave me one of her looks and said, “Am I wrong, or is this the first extended time you’ve spent with a woman since Sarah died?” I told her she wasn’t wrong. “Just don’t rush it,” she advised. “Even chitlins smell good to a starving man.” Caitlin Masters is a long way from chitterlings, but there’s no point in trying to explain this to my mother.
The short-term parking lot is easy walking distance from the Baton Rouge terminal. I carry the suitcases, Caitlin the carry-ons, and Annie her pink backpack. We check our bags at the door and go straight to our gate, only to find that our plane, which is parked at the gate, is running twenty minutes behind schedule. As irate passengers began to deplane, Annie announces that she has to tee-tee, and Caitlin escorts her off to the ladies’ room. I’m absently watching the gate when Olivia Marston walks through it.
I know it’s Livy because of the sudden tightness in my chest. Also because the plane just flew in from Atlanta, her home for the past thirteen years. As soon as she clears the gate, she steps out of line and starts past the other passengers, not rushing but somehow overtaking businessmen who have five inches on her. Southern belles are notorious for traveling heavy; Livy travels light. Yet the single overhead-sized suitcase rolling behind her will contain a color-coordinated ensemble versatile enough to get her through every social event from a luau to a formal ball.
