Joe Burkes Last Stand | Page 5

"Pretty good. Took the northern route, right straight across. Let's eat."
They were in time to get a window table.
"So, long drive," Kate said.
"I was up for it. It's nice to see the country that way once in a
while--you forget how big it is. Those high rolling plains in Montana
are something else. They'll have snow in a couple of weeks. I could use
some new tapes and a book or two."
"You know the place: Elliot Bay Book Company."
"Yeah, I thought I'd check it out this afternoon. I'm going to get a room
at the Edgewater and be Mr. Luxury for a couple of days."
"You could stay with me. Audrey's on a trip for a week; it wouldn't be
any hassle."
"Thanks, but I don't want to be in the way . . . I'd take some home
cooking, though."
"How about tomorrow night? You could meet Jackson."
"Sounds good. What happened to Rolf?"

"Oh, Rolf. We have lunch. I love Rolf, but he doesn't really want to live
in this period. That's what he calls it, 'This period.' He's happier in
bookstores reading about early Scandinavian immigrants."
"I was just reading about a Swede who was making cider with a hand
press he bought for a quarter when he was 12. It was in the paper this
morning. He'd been married 50 years. Said his wife was Norwegian but
she was taking pills for it." Kate laughed, a full wraparound laugh. She
had her mother's coloring--chestnut hair, light brown eyes, and rosy
cheeks.
"You'll like Jackson; he's very different."
"I'm sure I will. I liked Rolf--he was appealingly gloomy."
"Jackson's an artist. He gets mad when I say that; he says he's a
craftsman. You should see the things he makes: jewelry, furniture--he
can make anything."
"Speaking of art, your grandfather gave you a painting. It's in the
truck."
"Oh! Is it good?"
"I like it. I don't know if you will."
"Oh, Dad! Don't be such a parent. If you like it, I know it's good." The
fish sandwiches arrived, and Joe watched the toddler with an ice cream
cone in Honolulu, the girl veering her bike into a Maine hedge, the
teen-ager leaving home, the Seattle executive as she took a large bite.
"Mmmm," she said with her mouth full, "mmm--Ivar's."
"Have you heard from Maxie lately?" she asked.
"Not for a couple of months. He's still in New Zealand."
"I had a card from Auckland in August," Kate said. "Sounded like he
was having a good trip."

"How's your mom doing?
"Fine. She's got a new job working for a mineral exploration outfit.
Have you seen Ingrid?"
"Not recently," Joe said. "She's doing well, at least she was the last time
I saw her. She's been selling her jewelry, and her classes keep her busy.
Same as ever. She has a new boyfriend."
"Oh good. I love Ingrid. She always sends a Christmas card and tells
me how Maxie's doing." Kate had known Max since he was eight. They
had become brother and sister even though there was no blood
relationship. They had been especially close when Kate lived with
Ingrid, Max, and him during her high school years. Kate had been
lucky, Joe thought, to have had two mothers, or a mother and a half.
His own mother had died when he was seven. It was long ago, but he
could remember well enough that he'd never liked her very much.
After lunch Joe watched Kate walk with long strides toward her office,
hair bouncing on her shoulders. Strong, he thought proudly. He
checked in at The Edgewater, lay down on the bed, and didn't wake up
until four.
The days were getting shorter. A salty breeze drove layers of cloud
across the sound as Joe walked down Alaskan Way to the Elliot Bay
Book Company. The ocean was to his right, but he was headed south
instead of north as he would have been on the east coast. It took days in
Seattle to stop thinking that he was going the wrong way.
The bookstore was well lit and cheerful. A tall woman with dark hair
and hammered silver earrings was browsing in a corner. She wore a
caramel colored T-shirt that showed a black elongated figure above the
name "Caffe Ladro." Her shoulders were wide; the cotton draped
comfortably around high flat breasts and fell a distance to her hips. She
appeared to be in her forties. Joe hoped that she didn't have blue eyes.
Two types of women got to Joe immediately. One was black Irish, blue
eyed. He looked into those eyes, something slipped, and he was calling

for fire, night, and Vikings to ax. The other was blonde with translucent
skin, full breasted and silent. The blondes