Kay was in tight jeans and a King Khan and the Shrines T-shirt, sleeves rolled up, bright slashes of tattoos tearing down each slender arm. As she moved, she swung her shoulders loosely, her body in that constant flow of music that came out in every little thing she did. Her purse was clamped diagonally across her chest—anti-purse-snatching style—bisecting her breasts. She was small and moved with the same compact energy as Jeremy, her hair swinging in the wind, and Jake was already imagining what she’d smell like when he buried his face in her. She looked up, saw him, and squatted to their son. She said something and his head swiveled up and down the beach, like a bird looking for food. He finally located Jake when she pointed and he took off at a run.
“Daddy!” Jeremy yelled, the high tinkle of his voice rising above the sound of the surf.
In that instant all the rust fell out of his life. Suddenly his father, Madame X and her child, Hauser and Dr. Sobel, the blond horsehairs in the evidence bag, and Dr. Reagan’s subterranean office all melted away. He ran to his son, scooped the boy up, and hugged him a little too tight for a little too long. Jeremy began to squirm and Jake put him down “Hey, Moriarty,” he said, plastering a kiss on his son’s cheek. “How we doing?”
Jeremy laughed, threw back his head. “I found a shell! Mommy has it! We were on the bus.”
“Daddy’s happy you’re here.”
“We got MoonPies! Big MoonPies!” Jeremy sang with an enthusiasm that said that MoonPies were better than money.
“Is that so?”
Kay was almost blushing, her freckled cheeks lifting with that gentle smile she had. “Want a MoonPie?” she asked, and threw herself into him.
“Is that what you youngsters are calling it these days?”
Kay was a few months away from her thirtieth birthday—a date she was dreading and Jake found himself secretly looking forward to. Jake hoped that the fifteen-year age spread between them would feel less cavernous if her birth year was only one digit off of his. Besides, Kay looked young for her age and Jake wanted her to be in a new decade so he wouldn’t feel so old. All he thought about now was how she smelled.
“I missed you,” he said into her hair, greedily gulping in her scent. It was clean and laced with a hint of papaya.
“I missed you more.”
He felt her arms tighten and the meaty presence of her breasts push into him. “You feel good.”
“You always say that.”
“Because you always feel good.” He squeezed her a little tighter before they unclenched and headed back to the house, fingers loosely intertwined, Jeremy running circles around them like a whippet, high on MoonPies, the bus ride, and at seeing Daddy.
“I brought you some clothes. Things a little more—” she scoured her vocabulary—“corporate.”
He kissed the tip of her nose, then her lips, and said, “You’re not staying.”
Kay stopped, looked up into his eyes. “I just schlepped my cello on a Greyhound that smelled like piss while managing to keep Jeremy entertained for the three-hour ride and you say I can’t stay. You must be real tired of having sex with me, mister.” She sounded only half serious.
Jake managed a small smile. He leaned over as they walked, kissed the top of her head, breathing in more papaya. “Dylan is rolling in tomorrow night. I have my hands full with Dad.” He paused, hesitated. “And I have a case here that’s going to take—”
“Whoa. Whoa. Back up, Mr. Not-getting-laid. Did you say you have a case?” She stopped and her grip tightened on his hand. He also stopped or he would have pulled her over.
“It just happened.”
“They always just happen, Jake. That’s the way it is. You haven’t told Carradine that you’re quitting?”
“This came up last night. While I was here.” Jake wanted to tell her more, to fill her in on all the things that were crawling around in his skull, flipping the switches and pulling books off the shelves like an angry child. “It’s important.”
“Oh, Christ, don’t start that with me, Jake. I know that it’s important. They’re all important. But we have plans.”
“I just need to get through this thing with my father and the case and I’m done. I can deal with the Utah headhunter from home. If this thing wasn’t here—right in my lap—I would have said no. Carradine wouldn’t have let me pick it up in the first place. Consider it loose ends.”
She listened to the timbre of his voice. “We’ll leave when you leave. I think that’s a fair compromise.”
Jake turned his focus to the horizon. Somewhere not too far away, hell was rolling in on eighty-foot swells and 200-mile-an-hour winds. “You can stay tonight,” he said softly and kissed the top of her head again. “Then I am sticking your ass on a bus and you’re going back to the city.” She opened her mouth to protest when he added, “I don’t want you two here right now. Not with this storm. Not with my work. I don’t need the vulnerability.”
And something in his tone made her stop. “Okay, Jake.” She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Whatever you need. We’ll sleep wherever you slept last night.”
“The sofa.”
“Sleep on sofa!” Jeremy said, and threw a rock with a clumsy overhand pitch. The stone thunked into the ground at his feet and he picked it up, trying the exercise again, this time making it to the edge of the surf. He nodded appreciatively and went back to scouring the beach for appropriate stones.
Kay was quiet for a few seconds, her calm way of processing information at work. Jake knew what she was doing and appreciated it. It was one of the things that he loved about her—she listened to and believed in him. Maybe it was all they had been through together, but she trusted him to take care of himself. And her and Jeremy. Once again he felt the speed of his brain and body magically slowed by just being around her.
“We can camp on the floor if we have to. Don’t worry about us, Jake, you’ve got your hands full here. I know you’re probably overwhelmed—” She paused, smiled again. “Listen to me—you overwhelmed? When have you ever been overwhelmed?” It wasn’t said cruelly, just matter-of-factly. Her grip on his hand tightened and he waited, knowing that she was in the process of asking a question. “How is your father?” The words were tentative because she knew some of what had happened.
He thought about the way a life that had seemed so ordered a few days ago, had somehow tied itself into a knot when he got the call about his old man. What could he tell her? He’s fine. Except for the terror I see in his eyes each time I talk to him. And he’s painting in his own blood. And I can’t forget to mention that they’ve given him enough morphine to tranq a Tyrannosaurus Rex and he’s still making more noise than an army of hungry zombies. Or the X-Acto knives. Yep, shit is just fucking dandy with my old man right now. “It could be better,” he offered in the way of a healthy compromise.
Kay knew him enough to read between the lines and she simply squeezed his hand again. Jeremy threw another rock, this one actually making it to the water, and he clapped with a fervor that Jake was jealous of. He pulled Kay in closer, her hip pressed against his thigh, and their step fell into a comfortable rhythm.
“We have any food?” she asked.
“Sure. Loads. Tons. Tuna, spaghetti, bologna and mustard sandwiches. A few packets of gas-station sugar. We’re set.”
Kay giggled and dropped her head against his shoulder. “We’ll order pizza.”
A middle-aged couple walked on the beach in chinos and matching cable-knit sweaters. They ambled silently, not talking, barely lifting their heads. Their feet kicked up plumes of sand that the wind carried away. Jeremy stopped lobbing rocks and waved furiously, because on television everyone at the beach was friendly. The couple kept their heads down and continued trudging along, even though they had to have seen the boy; he was in their line of sight.