He thought about her then. He loved her, he was sure of that. Not only was she beautiful and charming, but she’d become his source of stability and best friend as well. After a hard day at work, she was the first person he would call. She would listen to him, laugh at the right moments, and had a sixth sense about what he needed to hear. He knew he should spend more time with her. But practising law made limiting his hours impossible. She’d always understood, but still he cursed himself for not making the time. Once he was married he’d shorten his hours, he promised himself. He’d have his secretary check his schedule to make sure he wasn’t overextending himself.
Check?.
And his mind clicked another notch. Check… checking… checking in? He looked to the ceiling. Checking in?
Yes, that was it. He closed his eyes and thought for a second. What, then? C’mon, don’t fail now. Think, damn it, think.
New Bern.
The thought popped into his head. Yes. New Bern. That was it. The little detail, or part of it. What else, though?
New Bern, he thought again, and knew the name. Knew the town a little, mainly from a few trials he had been in. Stopped there a few times on the way to the coast. Nothing special. He and Allie had never been there together.
But Allie had been there before.
And the rack tightened its grip, another part coming together.
Allie, New Bern… and… something at a party. A comment in passing. From Allie’s mother. What had she said?
Lon paled then, remembering. Remembering what Allie’s mother had said so long ago. It was something about Allie being in love one time with a young man from New Bern. Called it puppy love. So what, he had thought when he’d heard it, and had turned to smile at Allie. But she hadn’t smiled. She was angry. And then Lon guessed that she had loved that person far more deeply than her mother had suggested. Maybe more deeply than she loved Lon.
And now she was there. Interesting. Lon brought his palms together, as though he were praying, resting his fingertips against his lips. Coincidence? Could he nothing. Could he exactly what she said. Could be stress and antique shopping. Possible. Even probable.
Yet… what if? Lon considered the other possibility, and for the first time in a long while he became frightened. What if she’s with him?
He made up his mind then that he would do anything it took to keep her. She was everything he’d always needed, and he’d never find another quite like her.
So, with trembling hands, he dialled the phone for the fourth and last time that evening.
And again there was no answer.
CHAPTER FIVE: KAYAKS AND FORGOTTEN DREAMS
ALLIE WOKE early the next morning. She’d slept in the shirt he’d given her, and she smelt him once again while thinking about the evening they’d spent together. The easy laughter and conversation came hack to her, and she especially remembered the way he’d talked about her painting. It was so unexpected, yet uplifting, and she realized how sorry she would have been had she decided not to see him again.
She looked out of the window and watched the chattering birds search for food in the early light. Noah, she knew, had always been a morning person. She knew he liked to kayak or canoe, and she remembered one morning she’d spent with him in his canoe, watching the sun come up. She’d had to sneak out of her window to do it because her parents wouldn’t allow it, but she hadn’t been caught and she remembered how Noah had slipped his arm around her and pulled her close as dawn began to unfold. “Look there,” he’d whispered, and she’d watched her first sunrise with her head on his shoulder, wondering if anything could he better than that moment.
As she got out of bed to take her bath, feeling the cold floor beneath her feet, she wondered if he’d been on the water this morning watching another day begin, thinking somehow he probably had.
SHE WAS RIGHT. Noah was up before the sun and dressed quickly, same jeans as last night, undershirt, clean flannel shirt, blue jacket and boots. He drank a quick glass of milk and grabbed two biscuits on the way out of the door. After Clem greeted him with a couple of sloppy licks, he walked to the dock where his kayak was stored. He liked to let the river work its magic, loosening up his muscles, warming his body, clearing his mind.
The old kayak, well used and river-stained, hung on two rusty hooks attached to his dock, just above the water line. He lifted it free, inspected it quickly, then took it to the hank. In a couple of seasoned moves, long since mastered by habit, he had it in the water and was working his way upstream, paddling hard, working off the tension, preparing for the day.
Questions danced in his mind. He wondered about Lon and what type of man he was, wondered about their relationship. Most of all, though, he wondered about Allie and why she had come.
By the time he reached home, he felt renewed. Checking his watch, he was surprised to find that it had taken two hours. Time always played tricks out there.
He hung the kayak to dry and went to the shed where he stored his two-man canoe. He carried it to the hank, leaving it a few feet from the water, and turned towards the house. In the western sky he saw storm clouds, thick and heavy, far off but definitely present. The winds weren’t blowing hard but they were bringing the clouds closer. From the look of them he didn’t want to he outside when they got here. Damn. How much time did he have? A few hours, maybe more.
He showered, put on new jeans, a red shirt and black cowboy boots, brushed his hair and went downstairs to the kitchen. He did the dishes from the night before, picked up a little around the house, made himself some coffee and went to the porch. The sky was darker now and he checked the barometer. Steady, but it would start dropping soon.
He’d learned long ago to never underestimate the weather, and he wondered if it was a good idea to go out. The rain he could deal with, lightning was a different story. A canoe was no place to he when electricity sparked in humid air.
He finished his coffee, putting off the decision until later. He went to the toolshed and found his axe. After checking the blade by pressing his thumb to it, he sharpened it with a whetstone until it was ready.
He spent the next twenty minutes splitting and stacking logs. He did it easily, his strokes efficient, and didn’t break a sweat. He put a few logs off to the side for later and brought them inside when he was finished, stacking them by the fireplace.
He looked at Allie’s painting and reached out to touch it, bringing back the feelings of disbelief at seeing her again. God, what was it about her that made him feel this way? Even after all these years? What sort of power did she have over him?