pulls her hair back into a thick ponytail, as though to feel the breeze on her neck. Her collarbones are sculpted ivory, creating shadowy hollows at the base of her throat.
“About what?”
“About what? Everything. Why you did what you did twenty years ago.”
“What do you mean?”
This is Kafkaesque. Can she really have edited the past so completely that she no longer remembers how badly she betrayed our dreams? “Why you disappeared for a year. Where you went. Why you ran off to Virginia. Why you treated me like a stranger when I flew up to ask you to get your father to drop the suit.”
She turns to me and lets her hair fall, and whatever mask she was maintaining falls with it. She looks more vulnerable than I have ever seen her, and when she speaks, her voice is stripped of all affect. “Penn, I can’t do it.”
“Livy, if I understood some of those things, I might … well—things might not have to happen the way they are.”
“What do you mean? If I answer your questions, you’ll withdraw the charges you made against my father?”
I don’t know what I mean. I started into the Del Payton case to destroy Leo Marston, but compared to understanding the mysteries that shaped my life, revenge seems meaningless. Of course, there is still Del Payton. And Althea. And the small matter of justice—
“I can’t pull out of the Payton case now. It’s too late for that. But I can pursue it a different way. If your father’s part was only—”
“Stop,” she says, shaking her head. “I can’t talk about twenty years ago. Not even to make things easier on my father.”
She takes a step toward me. I want her to stay back, because the closer she gets, the more I want to go to her room with her. She is achingly beautiful in the moonlight.
“How did I ruin your life?” I ask.
She shakes her head, absolving me of any possible sin. “You didn’t.” Another step. “But you can save it.”
“Livy, listen—”
“Come with me,” she pleads. “Right now.”
If she had kissed me then, I would have walked away. But she didn’t. She picked up her purse from the pool chair, took my hand, and led me across the parking lot toward the motel, a purposeful urgency in her stride.
The déjà vu of walking beside the numbered doors is powerful enough to dislocate time. If I were to close my eyes and open them again, I would see the eighteen-thousand-dollar gown flowing behind her like a trail of mist. The lifetimes of water that have passed under the bridge since that night have all flowed back in a span of moments.
When she opens the door and closes us inside, I pull her to me and kiss her with the thirst of a binge drinker returning to the bottle. My questions fade to dying sparks, made irrelevant by the absolute connection of our lips and hands. I don’t even know I am backing her toward the door until she collides with it, the unyielding wooden face holding her as I continue forward, pressing against her, my hands groping at her dress, searching for the hem.
“That’s right,” she says hoarsely. “That’s right … that’s—”
The moment my hand finds her sex, she is breathing like a sprinter in the last few yards of a race. She kisses me with almost desperate passion, then pushes down the front of the strapless dress and pulls my mouth to a breast. In seconds both her arms are outstretched, fingers splayed and quivering, discharging the frantic energy pouring from her core. Touching her this way is rapture, at once within her and without, needing no other thing, no friend, no thought—
The knock at the door reverberates through our bodies, stunning us from our trance. Yet still Livy presses herself down against my hand, unwilling to let the world back in. I jerk her away from the door and onto the bed, fearing someone might shoot through the thin metal.
The knocking comes again. This time, with the distance to the bed and with half my faculties restored, it sounds reasonably discreet.
“Who is it?” I call, digging in my pocket for Kelly’s gun, hating the ragged edge of fear in my voice.
“Kelly.”
Relief cascades through me. I turn to tell Livy everything’s all right and find her standing with both hands pointed rigidly at the door, a pistol clenched between them. She must have taken it from her purse.
“Whoa!” I say, holding up my hands. “I know this guy. He’s with me.”
She lowers the gun slowly, as though unsure whether to trust my judgment. I turn back to the door and open it a crack.
Daniel Kelly’s sandy blond head leans toward mine.
“I saw you go in here as I pulled up. I just wanted you to know I’m back.”
I nod. “I heard about what happened at the apartments. You must be tired. You can go ahead and get some sleep.”
“I’m fine. Wired, really.”
I hesitate to ask the next question, but I want to know. “Is Caitlin with you?”
An ironic smile, there and gone. “She’s back at the paper, writing the story. She’s a tough lady, man.”
Coming from Daniel Kelly, this is high praise indeed. “Thanks for looking out for her. And thanks again for the levee thing.”
He nods, but there’s a curious hesitancy in his face.
“What is it, Kelly?”
“Well, I thought maybe you and Caitlin were … you know.” He looks past me, through the crack in the door. “I guess not, huh?”
“I guess not,” I reply, feeling hollowness in my chest.
He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “I’m gonna get some eggs over at Shoney’s. One of the other guys’ll be watching this door.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and your little girl is fine. No worries.”
His words hit me like a blow. Maybe he meant for them to. My cheeks burn with self-disgust.
“’Night, boss,” he says, and disappears from the crack.
I shut the door and bolt it.
Livy is sitting on the bed, her face composed, the gun nowhere in evidence. Only her tousled hair hints at our brief encounter at the door.
“Why are you carrying a gun?”
She shrugs. “The town’s gone crazy, hasn’t it? And Daddy insisted.”
Leo would.
Livy’s shoes, hose, and panties lie on the floor beside her bare feet. She looks at me like she can’t understand why I’m still standing where I am. Like what happened against the
