River’s End

the Pradas. You put those together on that fabulous body of yours, men will start diving out of windows to fall at your feet.”
    Olivia shook her head, laughed. “I don’t want to be responsible for that. And I don’t need the dress, or the shoes, or the warehouse full of other things you tried to talk me into.”
    “How can we be related?”
    “Genetics are a tricky business.”
    “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad you’re not angry with me anymore.” Tears flooded her eyes, and she reached over and gripped Olivia’s hand.
    “I wasn’t angry with you. Not you. not really. I’m sorry we argued.” She turned her hand over, gripped Jamie’s tight. “I was angry at Noah, which was just as useless. All those years ago, when you came up to visit and we went out into the forest that evening ... you were honest with me. You let me be honest with you. Ever since, whenever I needed to talk about Mama, you listened. Whenever I had questions, you answered them.”
    “Until you stopped asking,” Jamie murmured.
    “I thought I should put it away. I thought I could. Someone who’s smarter than I gave him credit for told me that whenever you run away from something it chases after you and it always catches up. I think I’m ready to change directions.”
    “It won’t be easy.”
    “God, no. But I’ll be honest with you again. I want to hear what he says about that night. I want to hear Sam Tanner’s story.”
    “So do I. We loved her,” Jamie said squeezing Olivia’s hand. “How could we not want to hear it for ourselves?”
    “Grandma—”
    “Has dealt with this in her own way, always. It doesn’t make your way wrong or your needs wrong.”
    “No, it doesn’t. I guess I’m going to get in touch with Noah before I go back.”
    “He’s a nice man.” Jamie’s smile changed texture, crept toward feline. “And a very attractive one.”
    “I noticed. I’ve just about decided to sleep with him.”
    The little sound that popped out of Jamie’s mouth was something between a grunt and a squeak. “Well. Well then. Ah ... Listen, why don’t we blow this joint, go get a pizza and you can elaborate on that very interesting statement.”
    “Great.” With relief, Olivia pushed her plate aside. “I’m starved.”
    Frank was sitting in his kitchen, enjoying the single predinner light beer his wife allowed him. On a notepad, he drew circles, squiggles, exes as he toyed with a new play for the basketball team he coached.
    He’d have enjoyed some potato chips or Fritos with his beer, but Celia had come across his secret stash a few days before. He still couldn’t figure out what the hell she’d been doing looking on the top shelf of the den closet, but he couldn’t ask as he’d denied knowing the sour cream and onion chips were there. He claimed Noah had probably left them. That was his story, Frank thought as he made do with a handful of salt-free pretzels. And he was sticking to it. When the doorbell rang, he left his beer and his doodling on the table, thinking it might be one of his players. He didn’t think it set the right tone for Coach to come to the door with a cold one in his hand.
    It was a young woman, with the tall, rangy build he could have used on the court. A little too old to fit into his twelve-to-sixteen-year-old league, he thought; then images overlapped in his mind and had him grabbing for her hands.
    “Liv. Livvy! My God, you’re all grown up.”
    “I didn’t think you’d recognize me.” And the fact that he had, with such obvious delight, warmed her. “I’d have known you anywhere. You look just the same.”
    “Never lie to a cop, even a retired one. Come in, come in.” He pulled her inside. “I wish Celia were here. She had a late-afternoon meeting. Sit down.” He fussed around the living room, picking up the newspaper, scooping a magazine off a chair. “Let me get you something to drink.”
    “I’m all right. I’m fine.” There was a pressure in her chest, heavy, tight. “I told myself to call first. Then I didn’t. I just didn’t”
    He saw the battle for composure on her face. “I’m glad you did. I knew you were grown-up, but every time I pictured you, even when I’d read your letters, I’d see a little girl.”
    “I always see a hero.” She let herself go into his arms, let herself be held. And the jitters in her stomach quieted and eased. “I knew I’d feel better. I knew it would be all right, if I could see you.”
    “What’s