Chapter One Excerpt
On the day the pictures arrived, Kate
Langston jogged Canyon Loop Road, down to Vista Del Mar, and
ran the last two miles along Richardson's Bay at an easy
lope. For years, she ran this course from the other
direction, but today a cold brisk westerly convinced her
that running up the canyon, with the wind at her back would
make the climb to the top less taxing. This slight change in
routine was Kate's only acquiescence to her forty-ninth
birthday now six months past. Still a compact size eight,
Kate betrayed few signs of her age.
On this particular day, as Kate
approached the house, palms resting on the back of her hips,
dragging air into her lungs, it suddenly occurred to her
that she had not yet picked up today's paper. She glanced
longingly toward the house, paused, and with the back of one
hand, wiped away the cinnamon-blond hair stuck to her sweaty
face. In the process, she tasted her own salty moisture and
grimaced. Other women "glistened" when they
exercised. Kate dripped. Honest perspiration ran off her
face, down her back and even into the recesses of her
running shorts. She really wanted a shower.
Instead of cutting across the lawn to the
front door, she stayed on the road, slowed to a comfortable
walk, and headed for the mailbox. Reaching into the paper
tube, she began scanning the headlines as she turned back
toward the drive. Then, Kate remembered the mail.
Normally, Mike brought in the mail, not
that her husband always arrived home first. But it was
tradition, the comfortable routine Kate and Mike adopted
somewhere over their twenty-six year marriage, a tradition
left over from the days of babies and school routines.
Today, Kate escaped from work early, the last photo shoot
for the Christmas catalogue complete. She hurried along the
thirty minute drive from the office to her bay view home,
eager to make her daily run while it was still light out.
Well, now she'd made the run. This was the first she'd
thought of the mail. Sighing, she turned back to the box.
The shower and a huge bottle of cold water would have to
wait.
Her oversized mailbox held the usual
collection of catalogues and bills. These she scanned with
disinterest, looking first to see if Clifford and Wills'
sale catalogue had arrived; she needed a new suit for work.
Their spring preview collection featured delightful tropical
weight wool that Kate hoped would drop in price. It was
featured in pumpkin, a rarity even in seasons of "warm
colors." Kate was determined to have it, for she loved
wearing the unusual, the bright, and nothing complimented
her wiry frame, and curly red hair like a warm gold, or
tomato red, or yes, even pumpkin. Today she found no
catalogue, and Kate shook herself away from thoughts of the
pumpkin suit.
"If I keep on like this," she
chided aloud, "I'll buy the dumb thing at full
price." She allowed a little laugh, and turned her
attention to the rest of the mail.
As she sorted, an oversized first class
envelope seized her curiosity. Addressed to her, with bold
handwritten lines, the envelope bore no return address. She
looked for a postmark, and found it had been mailed in Los
Angeles. Funny.
She tore it open, still standing on the
side of the road, panting and sweating. Her damp fingers
found only pictures inside, eight by tens, and this
surprised her. She was not expecting photos, though at work
she handled them daily. She turned them over in her hands to
discover glossy black and whites, blurred but still
identifiable- each with the same unavoidable message. Her
husband was seeing another woman.
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