"It's beautiful, Allie. Thank you." He attempted a smile. "I told you that you were an artist." She nodded, her face cast downwards, her lips pressed together. It was time for her to go.
They walked to her car slowly, without speaking. When they reached it, Noah embraced her again until he could feel the tears welling up in his own eyes. He kissed her lips and both cheeks, then with his finger softly brushed the places he'd kissed.
"I love you, Allie."
"I love you, too."
Noah opened her car door and they kissed one more time. Then she slid behind the wheel, never taking her eyes from him. She put the packet of letters and her handbag next to her on the seat and fumbled for the keys, then turned the ignition. It started easily and the engine began to turn over impatiently. It was almost time.
Noah pushed her door closed with both hands and Allie rolled down the window. She reached out her hand and Noah took it for just a moment, moving his fingers softly against her skin.
"Stay with me," Noah mouthed without sound, and this for some reason hurt more than Allie would have expected. The tears began to fall hard now, but she couldn't speak. Reluctantly, she looked away and pulled her hand from his. She put the car in gear.
He fell into an almost trancelike state as he watched it roll slowly forwards, the gravel crunching under the wheels. Slowly the car turned towards the road that would take her back to town. Noah felt dizzy at the sight. "Don't go!" he wanted to shout. But he didn't say anything, and a minute later the only remaining signs of her were the tracks that her car had left behind.
She was gone. For ever this time. For ever. He closed his eyes.
DRIVING WITH TEARS in her eyes was difficult, but Allie went on anyway. She kept the window rolled down, thinking the fresh air might help clear her mind, but it didn't seem to. Nothing would help. She was tired, and she wondered if she would have the energy she needed to talk to Lon. And what was she going to say? She hoped that something would come to her when the time came. By the time she reached Front Street, she had herself a little more under control. Traffic was light and she had time to watch strangers going about their business as she drove through New Bern. At a service station, a mechanic was looking under the bonnet of a new car. Two women were pushing prams just outside Hoffman-Lane, chatting while they window-shopped.
She saw the inn just up the street while she was stopped at a red light. She took a deep breath when the light turned green and drove slowly until she reached the parking lot. She turned in and saw Lon's car sitting in the first spot. Although the one next to it was open, she passed it and picked a spot a little further from the entrance.
She turned off the engine, then reached into the glove compartment for a mirror and brush. Looking at herself, she saw her eyes were still red and puffy. Like yesterday after the rain, she was sorry she didn't have any make-up, though she doubted it would help much now. She reached for her purse, opened it, and once again looked at the article that had brought her here. It felt impossible to her that she had arrived only the day before yesterday. It seemed like a lifetime since her dinner with Noah.
Starlings chirped in the trees around her. The clouds had begun to break up now, and Allie could see blue in between patches of white. It was going to be a beautiful day.
It was the kind of day she would have liked to spend with Noah, and as she was thinking about him, she remembered the letters her mother had given her and reached for them. She untied the package and found the first letter he had written her. She began to open it, then stopped because she could imagine what was in it. Something simple, no doubt-things he'd done, memories of the summer, perhaps some questions. Instead she reached for the last letter, the one on the bottom of the stack. The goodbye letter. This one interested her far more. How had he said it? How would she have said it?
The envelope was thin. One, maybe two pages. Whatever he had written wasn't too long. She turned it over and checked the back. No name, just a street address in New Jersey. She held her breath as she used her fingernail to prise it open.
Unfolding it, she saw it was dated March 1935. Two and a half years without a reply.
She straightened the page and began to read.
My dearest Allie,
I don't know what to say any more except that I couldn't sleep last night because I knew that it is over between us. It is a different feeling for me, one that I never expected. Looking back, I suppose it couldn't have ended another way.
You and I were different. We came from different worlds, and yet you were the one who taught me the value of love. You showed me what it was like to care for another, and I am a better man because of it. I don't want you ever to forget that.
I am not bitter because of what has happened. On the contrary I am secure in knowing that what we had was real, and I am happy we were able to come together for even a short time. And if, in some distant place in the future, we see each other in our new lives, I will smile at you with joy, and remember how we spent a summer learning from each other and growing in love. And maybe, for a brief moment, you'll feel it too, and you'll smile back and savour the memories we will always share.
I love you, Allie.
Noah
She read the letter again, then put it back into the envelope. She knew she couldn't delay any longer. Lon was waiting for her.
Her legs felt weak as she stepped out of the car. She paused and took a deep breath, and as she started across the parking lot she realized that she still wasn't sure what she was going to say to him.
And the answer didn't finally come until she reached the door and opened it and saw Lon standing in the lobby.
CHAPTER EIGHT: WINTER FOR TWO
THE STORY ends there, so I close the notebook, remove my glasses and wipe my eyes. I look at her now that I have finished, but she does not look back. Instead she is staring out of the window at the courtyard, where friends and family meet.
I read to her this morning, as I do every morning, because it is something I must do. Not for duty-although I suppose a case could be made for this-but for another, more romantic reason. I wish I could explain it more fully right now, but it's still early, and talking about romance isn't really possible before lunch any more, at least not for me. Besides, I have no idea how it's going to turn out, and to be honest; I'd rather not get my hopes up.
We spend every day together now, but our nights are spent alone. The doctors tell me that I'm not allowed to see her after dark. I understand the reasons, and though I agree with them completely I sometimes break the rules. Late at night when my mood is right, I will sneak from my room and go to hers and watch her while she sleeps. Of this she knows nothing. I'll come in and see her breathe and know that, had it not been for her, I would never have married.
And when I look at her face, a face I know better than my own, I know that I have meant as much to her. And that means more to me than I could ever hope to explain.
Sometimes, when I am standing there, I think about how lucky I am to have been married to her for almost forty-nine years. Next month it will be that long. She heard me snore for the first forty-five, but since then we have slept in separate rooms. I do not sleep well without her. I toss and turn and yearn for her warmth and lie there most of the night, eyes open wide, watching the shadows dance across the ceilings like tumbleweeds rolling across the desert. I sleep two hours if I am lucky, and still I wake before dawn.
I shuffle towards her and sit in the chair beside her bed. My back aches when I sit. I must get a new cushion for this chair, I remind myself for the hundredth time. I reach for her hand and take it, bony and fragile. It feels nice. She responds with a twitch, and gradually her thumb begins to rub my finger softly. I do not speak until she does; this I have learned. Most days I sit in silence until the sun goes down.