Still, there was one thing he couldn’t ignore, one thing that nagged at him throughout the afternoon. Yes, he knew there were differences—yes, he knew it wasn’t fair to compare them—but in the end, what stood out for him was the fact that he had never questioned whether he and Catherine were a team . Never once did he question the future with her, never once did it enter his mind that either one of them wouldn’t sacrifice everything for the other. Even when they’d had their fights—about where to live, whether to start the shop, or even what to do on Saturday nights—it wasn’t as if either one of them doubted their relationship. There was something long-term in the way they interacted with each other, something that reminded him that they would always be together.
Theresa and he, on the other hand, didn’t have that yet.
By the time the sun went down, he realized it wasn’t fair to think this way. He and Theresa had known each other only for a short period of time—it wasn’t realistic to expect it so soon. Given enough time—and the right circumstances—they would become a team as well.
Wouldn’t they?
Shaking his head, he realized he wasn’t exactly sure.
he wasn’t sure about a lot of things.
But one thing he did know—he hadn’t ever analyzed his relationship with Catherine the way he was doing with Theresa, and this wasn’t fair, either. Besides, analysis wasn’t going to help him in this situation. All the analysis in the world didn’t change the fact that they didn’t see each other as much as they wanted—or needed—to.
No—what they needed now was action.
* * *
Garrett called Theresa as soon as he got home that evening.
“Hello,” she answered sleepily.
He spoke softly into the phone. “Hey, it’s me.”
“Garrett?”
“I’m sorry for waking you up, but you’d left a couple of messages on my answering machine.”
“I’m glad you called. I wasn’t sure you were going to.”
“For a while, I didn’t want to.”
“Are you still mad at me?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Sad, maybe, but not mad.”
“Because I’m not there this weekend?”
“No. Because you’re not here most weekends.”
* * *
That night he dreamed again.
In his dream Theresa and he were in Boston, walking along one of the busy city streets, crowded with the usual collection of individuals—men and women, old and young, some dressed in suits, others in the baggy clothing typical of today’s youth. For a while, they window-shopped just as they had on one of his previous visits. The day was clear and bright, without a cloud in the sky, and Garrett was enjoying spending the day with her.
theresa stopped at the window of a small craft store and asked if Garrett wanted to go inside. Shaking his head, he said, “You go ahead. I’ll wait for you here.” Theresa made sure he was certain, then stepped inside. Garrett stood outside the door, relaxing in the shade of the tall buildings, when he saw something familiar out of the corner of his eye.
It was a woman, walking along the sidewalk a little distance away, her blond hair just brushing her shoulders.
He blinked, glanced away for a moment, and turned back quickly. Something in the way she moved struck him, and he watched her as she slowly moved away. Finally the woman stopped and turned her head, as if remembering something. Garrett felt his breath catch.
Catherine .
It couldn’t be.
He shook his head. At this distance he couldn’t tell if he was mistaken or not.
She started to walk away again just as Garrett called to her.
“Catherine—is it you?”
She didn’t seem to hear him above the noise of the street. Garrett glanced over his shoulder and spotted Theresa in the shop, browsing. When he looked back up the street, Catherine—or whoever she was—was turning the corner.
He started toward her, walking quickly, then he began to jog. The sidewalks were becoming more crowded by the second, as if a subway had suddenly opened its doors, and he had to dodge around throngs of people before he reached the corner.
He turned where she had.
Once around the corner, the street grew steadily—menacingly—darker. He picked up his pace again. Though it hadn’t been raining, he felt his feet splashing through puddles. he stopped for a moment to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. As he did so, fog began to roll in, almost like a wave, and soon he couldn’t see anything more than a few feet away.
“Catherine—are you here?” he shouted. “Where are you?”
He heard laughter in the distance, though he couldn’t make out exactly where it was coming from.
He started walking again, slowly. Again he heard the laughter—childlike, happy. He stopped in his tracks.
“Where are you?”
Silence.
He looked from side to side.
Nothing.
The fog grew steadily thicker as a light rain began to fall. He started moving again, unsure where he was going.
Something darted into the fog, and he moved quickly toward it.
She was walking away, only a few feet in front of him.
The rain began to fall harder now, and suddenly everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He began to jog . . . slowly . . . slowly . . . he could see her just ahead . . . the fog growing thicker by the second . . . rain coming down in showers . . . a glimpse of her hair . . .
And then she was gone. He stopped again. The rain and fog made it impossible to see anymore.
“Where are you?” he shouted again.
Nothing.
“Where are you?” he shouted, even louder this time.
“I’m here,” a voice said from the rain and mist.
he wiped the rain from his face. “Catherine? . . . Is it really you?”
“It’s me, Garrett.”
But it wasn’t her voice.
Theresa stepped out of the fog. “I’m here.”
Garrett woke and sat up in bed, sweating profusely. Wiping his face with the sheet, he sat up for a long time afterward.
* * *
Later that day, Garrett met with his father.
“I think I want to marry her, Dad.”
They were fishing together at the end of the pier with a dozen other people, most of whom seemed lost in thought. Jeb looked up in surprise.
“Two days ago, it didn’t seem like you wanted to see her again.”
“I’ve done a lot of thinking since then.”
“You must have,” Jeb said quietly. He reeled in his line, checked the bait, then cast again. Even though he doubted he’d catch anything he wanted to keep, fishing was, in his estimation, one of life’s greatest pleasures.
“Do you love her?” Jeb asked.
Garrett looked at him, surprised. “Of course I do. I’ve told you that a few times.”
Jeb Blake shook his head. “No . . . you haven’t,” he said sincerely. “We’ve talked about her a lot—you’ve told me that she makes you happy, that you feel like you know her, and that you don’t want to lose her—but you’ve never told me that you love her.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“Is it?”
* * *
After he’d gone home, the conversation he’d had with his father kept repeating itself in his mind.