She relaxed and let him work the ankle and then the foot, and she soon realized he had not lost his touch. Did he mean that about looking healthy? She frowned. After all, she had dumped him. And she had been absolutely right in doing so. Hadn’t she?
“I heard about Patton, Shaw. Congratulations.”
“Aw shucks. Any lawyer with millions in legal business could’ve done the same thing.” He smiled.
“Yeah, I read about the engagement in the paper too. Congratulations twice.” He didn’t smile at that one. She wondered why not.
He quietly put her sock and shoe back on. He looked at her. “You’re not going to be able to run for a day or two, it’s pretty swollen. My car’s right over there. I’ll give you a lift.”
“I’ll just take a cab.”
“You trust a D.C. cabbie over me?” He feigned offense. “Besides, I don’t see any pockets. You going to negotiate a free ride? Good luck.”
She looked down at her shorts. Her key was in her sock. He had already eyed the bulge. He smiled at her dilemma. Her lips pressed together, her tongue slid along the bottom one. He remembered that habit from long ago. Although he hadn’t seen it for years, it suddenly seemed like he had never been away.
He stretched out his legs and stood up. “I’d float you a loan, but I’m busted too.”
She got up, put an arm against his shoulder as she tested the ankle.
“I thought private practice paid better than that.”
“It does, I’ve just never been able to handle money. You know that.” That was true enough; she had always balanced the checkbook. Not that there was much to balance back then.
He held on to one of her arms as she limped to his car, a ten-year-old Subaru wagon. She looked at it amazed.
“You never got rid of this thing?”
“Hey, there’s a lot of miles left on it. Besides, it’s full of history. See that stain right over there? Your Dairy Queen butterscotch-dipped ice cream cone, 1986, the night before my tax final. You couldn’t sleep, and I wouldn’t study anymore. You remember? You took that curve too fast.”
“You have a bad case of selective memory. As I recall you poured your milkshake down my back because I was complaining about the heat.”
“Oh, that too.” They laughed and got in the car.
She examined the stain more closely, looked around the interior. So much coming back to her in big, lumpy waves. She glanced at the back seat. Her eyebrows went up. If that space could only talk. She turned back to see him looking at her, and found herself blushing.
They pulled off into the light traffic and headed east. Kate felt nervous, but not uncomfortable, as if it were four years ago and they had merely jumped in the car to get some coffee or the paper or have breakfast at the Corner in Charlottesville or at one of the cafés sprinkled around Capitol Hill. But that was years ago she had to remind herself. That was not the present. The present was very different. She rolled the window down slightly.
Jack kept one eye on traffic, and one eye on her. Their meeting hadn’t been accidental. She had run on the Mall, that very route in fact, since they had moved to D.C. and lived in that little walk-up in Southeast near Eastern Market.
That morning Jack had woken up with a desperation he had not felt since Kate had left him four years ago when it dawned on him about a week after she had gone that she wasn’t coming back. Now with his wedding looming ahead, he had decided that he had to see Kate, somehow. He would not, could not, let that light die out, not yet. It was quite likely that he was the only one of the two who sensed any illumination left. And while he might not have the courage to leave a message on her answering machine, he had decided that if he was meant to find her out here on the Mall amidst all the tourists and locals, then he would. He had let it go at that.
Until their collision, he had been running for an hour, scanning the crowds, looking for the face in that framed photo. He had spotted her about five minutes before their abrupt meeting. If his heart rate hadn’t already doubled because of the exercise, it would’ve hit that mark as soon as he saw her moving effortlessly along. He hadn’t meant to sprain her ankle, but then that was why she was sitting in his car; it was the reason he was driving her home.
Kate pulled her hair back and tied it in a ponytail, using a braid that had been on her wrist. “So how’s work going?”
“Okay.” He did not want to talk about work. “How’s your old man?”
“You’d know better than me.” She did not want to talk about her father.
“I haven’t seen him since...”
“Lucky you.” She lapsed into silence.
Jack shook his head at the stupidity of bringing up Luther. He had hoped for a reconciliation between father and daughter over the years. That obviously had not happened.
“I hear great things about you over at the Commonwealth’s Attorney.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious.”
“Since when.”
“Everyone grows up, Kate.”
“Not Jack Graham. Please, God, no.”
He turned right onto Constitution, and made his way toward Union Station. Then he caught himself. He knew which direction to go, a fact he did not want to share with her. “I’m kind of rambling here, Kate. Which way?”
“I’m sorry. Around the Capitol, over to Maryland and left on 3rd Street.”
“You like that area?”
“On my salary, I like it just fine. Let me guess. You’re probably in Georgetown, right, one of those big federal townhouses with maid’s quarters, right?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t moved. I’m in the same place.”
She stared at him. “Jack, what do you do with all of your money?”
“I buy what I want; I just don’t want that much.” He stared back. “Hey, how about a Dairy Queen butterscotch-dipped ice cream cone?”
“There’s none to be had in this town, I’ve tried.”
He did a U-turn, grinned at the honkers, and roared off.
“Apparently, counselor, you didn’t try hard enough.”
Thirty minutes later he pulled into her parking lot. He ran around to help her out. The ankle had stiffened a little more. The butterscotch cone was almost gone.
“I’ll help you up.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I busted your ankle. Help me relieve some of my guilt.”
“I’ve got it, Jack.” That tone was very familiar to him, even after four years. He smiled wearily and stepped back. She was halfway up the stairs, moving slowly. He was getting back in his car when she turned around.
“Jack?” He looked up. “Thanks for the ice cream.” She went into the building.
Driving off, Jack did not see the man standing near the little cluster of trees at the entrance to the parking lot.
Luther emerged from the shadows of the trees and looked up at the apartment building.
His appearance from two days ago had drastically changed. It was lucky his beard grew fast. His hair had been cut very short, and a hat covered what was left. Sunglasses obscured his intense eyes and a bulky overcoat concealed the lean body.
He had hoped to see her one more time before he left. He had been shocked to see Jack, but that was all right. He liked Jack.
He huddled in his coat. The wind was picking up, and the chill was more than Washington usually carried at this time of year. He stared up at his daughter’s apartment window.
Apartment number fourteen. He knew it well; had even been inside it on a number of occasions, unbeknownst to his daughter, of course. The standard front-door lock was child’s play for him. It would’ve taken longer for someone with a key to open it. He would sit in the chair in her living room and look around at a hundred different things, all of them carrying years of memories, some good times, but mostly disappointments.