“Don’t be. I should have gotten out of it five years ago.”

This bombshell leaves me tingling with a sense of unreality. We all stand around feeling awkward until Caitlin takes Annie from my arms, points at the broad picture window, and says, “Let’s go look at those big airplanes!”

They’re quickly swallowed by the crowd, but not before Caitlin gives me a reproving look over her shoulder.

“Who was that?” Livy asks.

“The new publisher of the Examiner.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Her father owns the chain.”

“Ah.” Livy feels comfortably superior again. “Nepotism run amok. She doesn’t seem your type.”

And what’s my type? Dead saints and ghosts from my youth? “I think my type is changing. Rich heiresses seem like a good place to start.”

Livy gives me a look intended to make me feel guilty, but we share too much history for me to be taken in by that.

“How long will you be in Colorado?”

“A couple of days.”

“Call me when you get back. We should get together and talk.”

We should? “Why don’t you call me? Then I can skip speaking to your father.”

She lets this pass. “I will. Wait and see.”

“I’d better find Annie. We’ll be boarding soon.”

She reaches out and takes my hand. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Twenty years after high school, and suddenly we’re both free.”

I can’t believe she said it. Gave voice to something I would not even allow myself to think. “There’s a difference, Livy. I didn’t want to be free.”

She pales, but quickly recovers and squeezes my hand. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put it that way.”

I take back my hand. “I know. I’m sorry too. I’ve got to run.”

I turn to go in search of Annie and Caitlin, but after ten steps I stop and look back. I don’t want to. I have to.

Livy hasn’t moved. She’s looking right at me with a provocative expression of both regret and hope. She holds up her right hand in farewell, then turns and disappears into the crowd.

“Daddy, was that lady a movie star?”

Annie and Caitlin have reappeared at my side.

“No, punkin. Just someone I went to school with.”

“She looks like somebody on TV.”

She probably does. Livy is a living archetype of American good looks: not a Mary Tyler Moore but a warmer, more accessible Grace Kelly. A Southern Grace Kelly.

“I didn’t think she looked like a movie star,” Caitlin announces.

“What do you think she looks like?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.

“A self-important B-I-T-C-H.”

“Hey,” Annie complains. “What’s that spell?”