The woman who was sitting on the sand lumbers to her feet. “Katie?” I say again.
“Oh, my God… Jake? Is that really you?” She tugs the Army hat she’s wearing down lower over her forehead, and I have to bend over to look her in the eye.
“Katie?”
Then she’s moving across the sand toward me, and she’s in my arms. Immediately it’s like eighteen years disappears. Poof. Seems just like yesterday when I said goodbye to her and then never saw her again. We were sixteen years old and I thought I would die.
“Are you really here?” she asks, her voice breathy and wild.
“I can’t believe it,” I say. I still can’t catch my breath.
“I can’t either.” She motions toward the teenager who looks so much like her. “This is my daughter, Gabby.”
“God, she looks just like you,” I say. Gabby waves at me, her fingers slender and long, like a piano player. Just like Katie.
“She’s got some of her dad in her too,” Katie says, looking at her daughter, her gaze tender. Two smaller kids run up and Gabby wraps her arms around them like she needs to keep them safe. From me? Not hardly. “This is Alex, and this is Trixie.”
“When did you arrive?” I ask.
“This morning.” She scrubs at her eyes with her fists. “We drove all night.”
“I know the feeling. I had to pick Dad up and drove all night to get him.”
She grins. “Where is the old bear?”
“He’s at the house. Probably sitting there with his shotgun, waiting to blast me if I don’t wash the damn dog. I should have left his ass at the hospital.”
Her brow furrows.
“He said damn,” Alex says. He grins. “He sounds like Dad.”
I look around. “Is your husband here?”
She shakes her head. “No, he’s…not.” Her eyes avoid mine. What’s up with that? “Did you say you picked your dad up at the hospital? Is he all right?”
“He had a small stroke, but he’s going to be fine. You know him. He’s too mean to get sick.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ll have to go see him later.”
“He won’t be in a good mood,” I warn.
She snorts. “When was he ever?” Then she laughs, and it sinks into the center of me. It’s pure and clean and so unlike where I’ve been. It’s genuine. She’s genuine.
She points to my bottle of shampoo. “Are you taking a bath?”
I wince. “More like giving a bath.” I jerk my thumb toward the dog, who is sitting at attention by my hip. “He stinks.”
“He does,” she agrees with a nod of her head. “I smelled you guys coming down the path.”
Her little boy steps closer and holds up a hand as though I’m a teacher with a question and he has the answer.
“Yes, Alex,” she says gently.
“Can I help wash your dog?”
“Hell, you can do it,” I say.
The kid grins. I really should watch my mouth around the kids. I’ve just never been around many of them, at least not since I was one.
“Really?” he says. “Can I, Mom?”
“Does he bite?” she asks me.
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know?”
“I just got him yesterday. At the pound.” He came with a bunch of paperwork, so I know he has been vaccinated, dewormed, and he was temperament tested. But that’s the extent of my knowledge.
“What’s his name?” Alex asks.
“He doesn’t have one yet.”
Alex takes the leash from me and gives it a tug. The dog sits there like a lump.
“He’s not coming,” Alex says.
“Yeah, he doesn’t do much unless he wants to.”
Trixie walks over to the dog and looks him in the eye. They’re the same height. The dog looks over his shoulder at me as though asking me if this life is the one I intended for him. “Go on,” I say. Then he sticks out that big old tongue and slurps it up the side of Trixie’s face. She giggles, takes his leash, and leads him to the water. Alex holds out his hands and I toss him the bottle of shampoo, which he catches like a football.
I don’t think he’ll bite them. Or at least I hope he doesn’t. The dog walks right into the lake and sits down. Then he waits patiently as the kids pour shampoo all over him and lather him up. He looks at me and I would swear he grins at me.
Katie points at the dog. “Did he just smile?”
I nod and cross my arms over my chest. “I think so.”
“He needs a name.”
“Do you think your kids might give him one?”
She snorts again, and it makes me grin. “Try to stop them.” She gets quiet for a moment. Then she blurts out, “Do you remember the day we met?”
This time, it’s me who snorts. “Yeah, Katie. I remember.”
4
Jake
The first time I ever saw Katie Higgins, she was standing on the dock with a Coke bottle–the glass kind–pressed to her lips. I watched her throat wobble as she swallowed, and I knew I had to meet her. I had to kiss her. I had to…
Oh, hell. I had to throw up.
That’s what happens when you steal a six-pack from your dad at the age of sixteen. You act stupid, puke your guts out, and thoroughly embarrass yourself. I was about to run for the bushes to heave up my guts when my buddy patted me on the back. “Who’s that?” he asked.
“That’s the squirrel I’m going to marry,” I said.