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
