Lakeside Cottage (8 page)

“K
ate 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 snakebit 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.

A nonprofit administrator took over, setting up the foundation. That way, JD didn’t have to deal with the money. It didn’t belong to him. He wanted it to be given to paramedics injured in the line of duty, and to help disadvantaged kids pay for college.

“You’ll find some new statements in the mail I sent you,” Sam said. “You’ve got some decisions to make. You can do anything you dream about. So what do you want?”

Oh, there was so much. And so little. He wanted for this all to go away and to be his own person once again. He wanted the past to be different, for his father to be around and his mother to be a mother. He wanted the American dream of living a normal, ordinary life. He wanted Janet to get better.

He’d had to go to war in order to fund his education. His foundation offered a different option to kids like he was. Thanks to the American people and their unpredictable generosity, a good number of kids were getting their education paid for.

And all it was costing JD was life as he knew it.

In front of the Port Angeles library, Kate turned off her cell phone and grinned at Callie, who sat next to her on the bench. “It’s a go,” she said.

Callie grinned back. “Really?”

“Yep. My friend Tanya loves the idea of running a retrospective about my grandfather. She pitched the project to her editorial board, and they gave it the green light. So it looks like I’ve got a lot of work to do.” She felt a soaring sense of elation. She’d started the summer in defeat, but now her fortunes were improving. “I have you to thank,” she told Callie. “You gave me the idea.”

Callie flushed and looked away. She tended to shy from praise.

Kate didn’t push. “Let’s go inside,” she said. “I need to get going on my research.”

Aaron was already in the children’s room for a Friday morning program on making paper airplanes. Kate
couldn’t stop herself from checking to see that he was behaving himself. For the moment, he seemed to be engrossed in paper folding. She released a small sigh of relief and headed for the computers.

There, she spent a pleasant half hour seeking out archived articles and images of her grandfather, a few of which she’d never seen before. Then, thinking about Callie, she searched for Millennium Commune and Timothy Stone. Within minutes, she was engrossed in all the shocking, lurid details of the commune. Everything Callie had told her was true. And there were even some things Callie had not shared, like the fact that when Brother Timothy elected to rape a girl as a coming-of-age gesture, it was the girl’s mother who procured the child for him, bathing and dressing her like a miniature bride.