LITMIR.BIZ

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photographer’s vest over that, its pockets bulging with what was probably a selection of expensive lenses and accessories. Tanned and fit, Kane looked like something you’d see in a glossy photography magazine, captioned “What the professionals are wearing.” It was overkill, really. Everybody else was in scruffies.

      “Oh, hello, Polly,” Kane said. “Have you joined the Club too?” He seemed quite pleased, which was flattering, and I suddenly remembered Susan telling me that David Kane was a bachelor. Uh-oh.

      “No, we just happened to be on the trail when Vic here needed a bit of help.”

      Kane looked Vic over. “Been swimming?” he said.

      “Something like that,” Vic said. I could feel Sophie bristling beside me.

      “Most of us usually wear a bathing suit,” Kane said.

      “I’m not most of us,” Vic said.

      “Oh my God, Uncle Vic! What happened to you?” A heavy young woman of about seventeen bounded up to the picnic table and flopped down beside him, propping one bright red running shoe up on the seat to retie one of the laces.

      “Hello, Arly,” Vic said. He didn’t sound all that thrilled to see her. “I’m surprised you’re asking.”

      “Well, last time I saw you, you were dry, eh?” Arly said and laughed boisterously. I didn’t have to ask her who her father was—she had Archie Watson’s curly brown hair and the same wide face and serious nose. There was a slight weariness at the corner of her eyes, though, probably caused by too many people saying “you’d be very pretty if you’d only lose some weight.” Rather than shrink into herself, as many large young women do, she had chosen instead to flaunt it. The result was impressive. She wore a tight T-shirt which showed off her generous bosom, and while her shorts were loose fitting and comfortable, they were brief, and her legs were smooth and tanned. Her fire-engine red sneakers bespoke a personality that was not going to be influenced by twenty-first century weight-ism. She looked terrific.

      Vic shrugged and turned his back on her. For a brief second, Arly looked like she was going to clobber him, then the moment passed and she turned her head to bathe David Kane in a heart melting, come-hither glance that made even my heart beat faster. This girl had “it”, whatever that is, and knew it.

      At that moment, a large wasp buzzed in and landed on the picnic table next to Arly’s shoe, attracted, perhaps by the strong pheromones that the girl was pumping into the air. Both Arly and David Kane reacted wildly.

      “Ahhh!” Arly shrieked, backing away. “Arrrgh!” Kane shouted, lifted his foot and pulverized the insect with the sole of his hiking boot, twisting it this way and that, just to make sure.

      “Geez,” I said, “poor little wasp. It was just looking for some lunch, David.” I hate it when people kill things for no reason.

      “Poor little nothing,” Kane said. He was pale, and his eyes shone. “They can be killers if they sting the wrong person.” Arly had returned to watch Kane scraping the remains of the wasp off his shoe.

      “My hero,” she said, doing a Perils of Pauline thing and pretending to swoon. “You allergic, too?” She reached into a pocket of her knapsack and withdrew a thick tube, like a magic marker, and brandished it. “It’s an epi-pen,” she said. “I take it with me everywhere.” I’d heard of those—the emergency hypodermic things that allergic people carry with them in case they get stung, or in case they eat peanut butter, or whatever. I’d never seen one before, but I suppressed the urge to ask if I could see it. Arly was getting enough attention as it was.

      Kane grinned and patted a pocket of his own knapsack. “Don’t leave home without it,” he said.

      “Some of us,” Arly said, fixing me with a steely glare, “live in real fear of those little suckers. It doesn’t mean we’re bad people. See ya.” She was off, bouncing with a kind of full-of-life energy that made it impossible not to watch her.

      Kane’s eyes met mine, and we exchanged a wordless comment. “Kids today”, we silently said. Vic and Sophie, after watching the wasp episode, had retreated into a private chat, so Kane dismissed them both and focused on me. His eyes were very clear and dark, and I could see myself reflected in their depths.

      “We?” he said. “You said ‘we’ were on the trail.” At that moment, Rosie and Lug-nut came up to me, tails wagging. Being well brought up, I introduced the dogs to him, and he patted their heads. I couldn’t help noticing his hands. They looked strong and well-kept. On one finger, he wore a manly signet ring, platinum, I think, with a green stone that I’ll bet wasn’t glass.

      “What breed are these guys?” he said. I suspected that he came from a world where a dog wasn’t a real dog unless it had the pedigree to prove it.

      “Rosie’s a purebred yellow Lab,” I said, which was possibly true, although the only papers she had were the ones she occasionally peed on. “Lug-nut is a Kuskawa Retriever.” I wasn’t going to perjure myself by using the word pure in reference to Luggy.

      “A Kuskawa Retriever? That’s not a breed I’m familiar with,” Kane said.

      “They’re very rare,” I said.

      “Oh, well. Nice dogs,” Kane said. “How’s the mascot coming?”

      “I’ll have some stuff for you tonight,” I said, feeling a bit uncomfortable, as the work I was doing for the Kountry Pantree had already got me in a bit of hot water, and I wasn’t eager to spread the word that I was working for Kane. I needn’t have worried. Vic and Sophie had slipped away to the other picnic table, where a veritable banquet had been spread out.

      “Grub’s up!” someone called. A tiny sneer appeared on David Kane’s upper lip, barely perceptible and not very attractive.

      “I’ve got my own stuff in my pack,” Kane said quietly, grasping and caressing my elbow. “Caviar, a demi of champagne. Some brie. Would you care to join me somewhere a little more private?”

      I wondered if he’d come prepared to hit on a likely female, and I just happened to be handy. I scanned the other members of the camera club and spotted one or two younger women who could also have been likely candidates for Kane’s attentions. I was acutely embarrassed. Not that I haven’t been propositioned before, but never by someone who was essentially my boss. Kane must have assumed that my “we” referred to the dogs.

      “Thanks for the offer, David, but I came with a couple of guys who’d miss me,” I said. I could have said I was there with my boyfriend, but I’ve never been comfortable with the term, and it didn’t suit Becker anyway. “Partner” wasn’t accurate, and “date” sounded dorky. I’ve never been very smooth when it comes to rejecting a proposition, which has occasionally resulted in nightmare dates with guys I’m not even remotely interested in. I hate hurting people’s feelings. Luckily, Bryan came up and saved me.

      “Hey,” he said. “They got chicken and cake! Do we have to wait for Dad?”

      “I don’t see why you can’t start without him,” I said, feeling warm and strangely maternal. He was a cute kid, and he’d actually treated me like I was somebody important in his life—like it mattered what I thought.

      “Cool!” he said, eyeing Kane.

      “Hey, big fella,” Kane said in a friendly way. “Haven’t I seen you before somewhere?” Bryan looked disconcerted for a moment, then decided to ignore the question.

      “C’mon guys,” he said to the dogs and darted away again. It was Kane’s turn to be embarrassed, and he apologized gracefully, replacing one set of assumptions with another. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, standing up at once and stepping out of my personal space, which he had been invading. “I didn’t know you were married. Your son’s just like you.”

      I let that go. If I had a son, I thought, he would probably be like me. The fact that Bryan wasn’t mine was, under the circumstances, none of

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