Desire Lines Read Free

days.”
“That’s part of the new ad campaign I’ve been working on,” he says, tilting his head modestly.
“I’m going over to wait for the rest of my bags,” Kathryn mumbles, and tries to slip away. Her mother reaches out and holds her arm. “Darling,you remember Skip—Chip Sanborn. He has a decorating store….” She squeezes Kathryn’s arm lightly, an old code for “behave,” and turns back to Chip. “It sounds like you’re making a lot of changes over there.”
“We sure are. And are you still doing interior design?”
“A little bit. Mostly real estate, these days.”
He fishes around in his jacket and pulls out another card. “Well, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come on over to the store when you have a moment and let me show you around?”
“I’d like that.” She smiles widely, just long enough, and takes the card. “Your father must be awfully proud of you, Chip.”
“I don’t know about that, Mrs. Campbell. But I think he appreciates the help.”
“I’ll bet he does. And call me Sally.”
“Sally it is.”
After he leaves, as they’re walking over to the baggage carousel, Kathryn’s mother turns to her and says, “You could be a little more friendly, dear. People might think you’re rude.”
“We went to high school together, Mother,” Kathryn says, lifting two suitcases off the conveyor belt and loading them onto a cart. “He knows I’m rude.” She wheels the cart into the lobby, out the automatic glass doors, and onto the sidewalk. “And anyway, I’m not in the best frame of mind for encountering local success stories.” She pauses for a moment. “If there was ever a sign not to go to my high school reunion, I guess that’s it.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you—you got some kind of letter about that. We’re over here.” Her mother motions toward a sporty silver Saturn parked illegally several yards down. “Well, it’s silly to burn your bridges. You never know when you might need Chip Sanborn. He could be a very good business contact.”
“For what?”
Her mother stops and faces her, one hand on her hip. “For me, maybe. Did you think of that?”
Kathryn shakes her head. “In fact, I did not think of that.”
Her mother turns toward the car and unlocks the trunk. “I know it’s hard for you to believe, Kathryn, but you and all your little friends are grown-ups now.”
“No we’re not, Mom,” she says, heaving the bags in. “We just act like grown-ups every now and then to fool you.”
“But that’s what being grown-up is all about.” Her mother pauses, a serene smile on her face. “Gosh, it’s nice to have you home.”
“Are you serious? We’ve been bickering since I got off the plane.”
“This isn’t bickering. This is classic mother-daughter communication. I’ve been reading up on it.” She goes around to the driver’s side and unlocks the door. “You have to learn to think of us as representatives of our generations instead of personalizing everything,” she calls across the top of the car. “Now listen, honey. I’ve got a few little errands to do on the way home. They’ll just take a minute, okay?”
What can she say? “Okay.”
Her mother smiles brightly. “Good. Then we’ll be taking the scenic route.”

Chapter 2
B angor is a quiet place, a town of about thirty-five thousand people, the second-largest metropolitan area north of Portland. Even at midday, in the middle of the week in the middle of town, there is a quiet that blankets everything: the two-story, clapboard houses, the city bus making its slow, empty rounds, the low-lying malls that have multiplied like barnacles on the rough edges of town.
“So here we are,” Kathryn’s mother says lightly as they drive along, “mother and daughter, both of us divorced. Do you think it might be hereditary?”
Kathryn looks out at the flat, treeless expanse surrounding the airport. On one side of the long road that leads to the interstate lie several strip malls—low, boxy