Maybe, she thought, she'd tell Jo about those things. Or maybe she wouldn't. It wasn't all that important. So what if she hadn't had the best childhood? Yes, her parents were alcoholics and often unemployed, but aside from the snow-globe incident, they'd never hurt her. No, she didn't get a car or have birthday parties, but she'd never gone to bed hungry, either, and in the fall, no matter how tight things were, she always got new clothes for school. Her dad might not have been the greatest, but he hadn't snuck into her bedroom at night to do awful things, things she knew had happened to her friends. At eighteen, she didn't consider herself scarred. A bit disappointed about college, maybe, and nervous about having to make her own way in the world, but not damaged beyond repair. And she'd made it. Atlantic City hadn't been all bad. She'd met a couple of nice guys, and she could remember more than one evening she spent laughing and talking with friends from work until the early hours of the morning.
No, she reminded herself, her childhood hadn't defined her, or had anything to do with the real reason she'd come to Southport. Even though Jo was the closest thing to a friend that she had in Southport, Jo knew absolutely nothing about her. No one did.
"Hi, Miss Katie," Kristen piped up from her little table. No dolls today. Instead, she was bent over a coloring book, holding crayons and working on a picture of unicorns and rainbows.
"Hi, Kristen. How are you?"
"I'm good." She looked up from her coloring book. "Why do you always walk here?"
Katie paused, then came around the corner of the counter and squatted down to Kristen's level. "Because I don't have a car."
"Why not?"
Because I don't have a license, Katie thought. And even if I did, I can't afford a car. "I'll tell you what. I'll think about getting one, okay?"
"Okay," she said. She held up the coloring book. "What do you think of my picture?"
"It's pretty. You're doing a great job."
"Thanks," she said. "I'll give it to you when I'm finished."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know," she said with charming self-assurance. "But I want to. You can hang it on your refrigerator."
Katie smiled and stood up. "That's just what I was thinking."
"Do you need help shopping?"
"I think I can handle it today. And that way, you can finish coloring."
"Okay," she agreed.
Retrieving a basket, she saw Alex approaching. He waved at her, and though it made no sense she had the feeling that she was really seeing him for the first time. Though his hair was gray, there were only a few lines around the corners of his eyes, but they added to, rather than detracted from, an overall sense of vitality. His shoulders tapered to a trim waist, and she had the impression that he was a man who neither ate nor drank to excess.
"Hey, Katie. How are you?"
"I'm fine. And yourself?"
"Can't complain." He grinned. "I'm glad you came in. I wanted to show you something." He pointed toward the monitor and she saw Josh sitting on the dock holding his fishing pole.
"You let him go back out there?" she asked.
"See the vest he's wearing?"
She leaned closer, squinting. "A life jacket?"
"It took me awhile to find one that wasn't too bulky, or too hot. But this one is perfect. And really, I had no choice. You have no idea how miserable he was, not being able to fish. I can't tell you how many times he begged me to change my mind. I couldn't take it anymore, and I thought this was a solution."
"He's okay with wearing it?"
"New rule-it's either wear it, or don't fish. But I don't think he minds."
"Does he ever catch any fish?"
"Not as many as he'd like, but, yes, he does."
"Do you eat them?"
"Sometimes." He nodded. "But Josh usually throws them back. He doesn't mind catching the same fish over and over."
"I'm glad you found a solution."
"A better father probably would have figured it out beforehand."
For the first time, she looked up at him. "I get the sense you're a pretty good father."
Their eyes held for a moment before she forced herself to turn away. Alex, sensing her discomfort, began rummaging around behind the counter.
"I have something for you," he said, pulling out a bag and placing it on the counter. "There's a small farm I work with that has a hothouse, and they can grow things when other people can't. They just dropped off some fresh vegetables yesterday. Tomatoes, cucumbers, some different kinds of squash. You might want to try them out. My wife swore they were the best she'd ever tasted."
"Your wife?"
He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I still do that sometimes. I meant my late wife. She passed away a couple of years ago."
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her mind flashing back to her conversation with Jo.
What's his story?
You should ask him, Jo had countered.
Jo had obviously known that his wife had died, but hadn't said anything. Odd.
Alex didn't notice that her mind had wandered. "Thank you," he said, his voice subdued. "She was a great person. You would have liked her." A wistful expression crossed his face. "But anyway," he finally added, "she swore by the place. It's organic, and the family still harvests by hand. Usually, the produce is gone within hours, but I set a little aside for you, in case you wanted to try some." He smiled. "Besides, you're a vegetarian, right? A vegetarian will appreciate these. I promise."
She squinted up at him. "Why would you think I'm a vegetarian?"
"You're not?"
"No."
"Oh," he said, pushing his hands into his pockets. "My mistake."
"It's okay," she said. "I've been accused of worse."
"I doubt that."
Don't, she thought to herself. "Okay." She nodded. "I'll take the vegetables. And thank you."
6
As Katie shopped, Alex fiddled around the register, watching her from the corner of his eye. He straightened the counter, checked on Josh, examined Kristen's picture, and straightened the counter again, doing his best to seem busy.
She'd changed in recent weeks. She had the beginnings of a summer tan and her skin had a glowing freshness to it. She was also growing less skittish around him, today being a prime example. No, they hadn't set the world on fire with their scintillating conversation, but it was a start, right?
But the start of what?
From the very beginning, he'd sensed she was in trouble, and his instinctive response had been to want to help. And of course she was pretty, despite the bad haircut and plain-Jane attire. But it was seeing the way Katie had comforted Kristen after Josh had fallen in the water that had really moved him. Even more affecting had been Kristen's response to Katie. She had reached for Katie like a child reaching for her mother.
It had made his throat tighten, reminding him that as much as he missed having a wife, his children missed having a mother. He knew they were grieving, and he tried to make up for it as best he could, but it wasn't until he saw Katie and Kristen together that he realized that sadness was only part of what they were experiencing. Their loneliness mirrored his own.
It troubled him that he hadn't realized it before.
As for Katie, she was something of a mystery to him. There was a missing element somewhere, something that had been gnawing at him. He watched her, wondering who she really was and what had brought her to Southport.
She was standing near one of the refrigerator cases, something she'd never done before, studying the items behind the glass. She frowned, and as she was debating what to buy, he noticed the fingers of her right hand twisting around her left ring finger, toying with a ring that wasn't there. The gesture triggered something both familiar and long forgotten.
It was a habit, a tic he'd noticed during his years at CID and sometimes observed with women whose faces were bruised and disfigured. They used to sit across from him, compulsively touching their rings, as though they were shackles that bound them to their husbands. Usually, they denied that their husband had hit them, and in the rare instances they admitted the truth, they usually insisted it wasn't his fault; that they'd provoked him. They'd tell him that they'd burned dinner or hadn't done the wash or that he'd been drinking. And always, always, these same women would swear that it was the first time it had ever happened, and tell him that they didn't want to press charges because his career would be ruined. Everyone knew the army came down hard on abusive husbands.
Some were different, though-at least in the beginning-and insisted that they wanted to press charges. He would start the report and listen as they questioned why paperwork was more important than making an arrest. Than enforcing the law. He would write up the report anyway and read their own words back to them before asking them to sign it. It was then, sometimes, that their bravado would fail, and he'd catch a glimpse of the terrified woman beneath the angry surface. Many would end up not signing it, and even those who did would quickly change their minds when their husbands were brought in. Those cases went forward, no matter what the woman decided. But later, when a wife wouldn't testify, little punishment was meted out. Alex came to understand that only those who pressed charges ever became truly free, because the life they were leading was a prison, even if most of them wouldn't admit it.