Thoughts of the summer they'd shared came back to her, and as she stared at him, she noticed how little he'd changed since she'd last seen him. He looked good, she thought. With his shirt tucked loosely into old faded jeans, she could see the same broad shoulders she remembered, tapering down to narrow hips and a flat stomach. He was tan, too, as if he'd worked outside all summer, and though his hair was a little thinner and lighter than she remembered, he looked the same as he had when she'd known him last.

Neither one of them moved as they faced each other.

He hadn't said anything, his muscles seemed frozen, and for a second she thought he didn't recognize her. Suddenly she felt guilty about showing up this way, without warning, and this made it harder. She had thought it would be easier somehow, that she would know what to say. But she didn't. Everything that came into her head seemed inappropriate, somehow lacking.

"Hello, Noah. It's good to see you again."

When she was finally ready, she took a deep breath and smiled.

She heard the shock in his voice as he spoke, and surprising her, it all came together -- being here, seeing him. She felt something twitch inside, something deep and old, something that made her dizzy for just a second.

"You too…," he stammered. He brought his hand to his chin, and she noticed he hadn't shaved. "It's really you, isn't it? I can't believe it…"

Her comment startled him, and he looked at her with amazement in his eyes. Then, after shaking his head slightly, he slowly began to smile.

She caught herself fighting for control. She hadn't expected this to happen, didn't want it to happen. She was engaged now. She hadn't come here for this… yet…

Yet the feeling went on despite herself, and for a brief moment she felt fifteen again. Felt as she hadn't in years, as if all her dreams could still come true.

Felt as though she'd finally come home.

Without another word they came together, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and he put his arms around her, drawing her close. They held each other tightly, making it real, both of them letting the fourteen years of separation dissolve in the deepening twilight.

Yet…

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry…"

They stayed like that for a long time before she finally pulled back to look at him. Up close, she could see the changes she hadn't noticed at first. He was a man now, and his face had lost the softness of youth. The faint lines around his eyes had deepened, and there was a scar on his chin that hadn't been there before. There was a new edge to him; he seemed less innocent, more cautious, and yet the way he was holding her made her realize how much she'd missed him since she'd seen him last.

"I saw the story on the house in the Raleigh paper a couple of weeks ago, and I had to come see you again."

Her eyes brimmed with tears as they finally released each other. She laughed nervously under her breath while wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, a thousand other questions on his face.

She stepped back, trying to compose herself, wiping away the last of her tears.

"It's okay," he said, smiling, "I still can't believe it's you. How did you find me?"

She felt the blood in her face. Just like fourteen years ago.

"Thank you. You look great, too." And he did, no doubt about it. The years had treated him well.

Noah smiled broadly. "I'm glad you did." He stepped back just a bit. "God, you look fantastic. You're even prettier now than you were then."

"So what have you been up to? Why are you here?"

His questions brought her back to the present, making her realize what could happen if she wasn't careful. Don't let this get out of hand, she told herself; the longer it goes on, the harder it's going to be. And she didn't want it to get any harder.

She turned away and took a deep breath, wondering how to say it, and when she finally started, her voice was quiet. "Noah, before you get the wrong idea, I did want to see you again, but there's more to it than just that." She paused for a second. "I came here for a reason. There's something I have to tell you."

She looked away and didn't answer for a moment, surprised that she couldn't tell him just yet. In the silence, Noah felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Whatever it was, was bad.

"What is it?"

But God, those eyes. Those soft, dark eyes.

"I don't know how to say it. I thought I did at first, but now I'm not so sure…"

"What happened to her leg?" she asked, stalling for time.

The air was suddenly rattled by the sharp cry of a raccoon, and Clem came out from under the porch, barking gruffly. Both of them turned at the commotion, and Allie was glad for the distraction.

"Is he yours?" she asked.

"Hit by a car a few months back. Doc Harrison, the vet, called me to see if I wanted her because her owner didn't anymore. After I saw what had happened, I guess I just couldn't let her be put down."

Noah nodded, feeling the tightness in his stomach. "Actually it's a she. Clementine's her name. But yeah, she's all mine." They both watched as Clem shook her head, stretched, then wandered toward the sounds. Allie's eyes widened just a bit when she saw her limp away.

"You were always nice like that," she said, trying to relax. She paused, then looked past him toward the house. "You did a wonderful job restoring it. It looks perfect, just like I knew it would someday."

"I'm being rather silly, aren't I?" she asked, trying to smile.

"Thanks, that's nice of you. It was quite a project, though. I don't know if I would do it again."

And with that thought, she realized how much had changed since then. They were strangers now; she could tell by looking at him. Could tell that fourteen years apart was a long time. Too long.

"Of course you would," she said. She knew exactly how he felt about this place. But then, she knew how he felt about everything -- or at least she had a long time ago.

He turned his head in the same direction as hers while he wondered about the small talk and what she was holding back.

"What is it, Allie?" He turned to her, compelling her to look, but she continued to stare at the house.

"This whole thing. Showing up out of the blue, not knowing what I want to say. You must think I'm crazy."

"Even though I don't know why, I can see this is hard for you. Why don't we go for a walk?"

"You're not crazy," he said gently. He reached for her hand, and she let him hold it as they stood next to one another. He went on:

"What do you mean?"

"Why not? I think we both could use one."

She hesitated and looked to his front door. "Do you need to tell anyone?"

"Like we used to?"

He shook his head.

"No, there's no one to tell. It's just me and Clem." Even though she'd asked, she had suspected there wouldn't be anyone else, and inside she didn't know how to feel about that. But it did make what she wanted to say a little harder. It would have been easier if there was someone else.

They started toward the river and turned on a path near the bank. She let go of his hand, surprising him, and walked on with just enough distance between them so that they couldn't accidentally touch.

He looked at her. She was pretty still, with thick hair and soft eyes, and she moved so gracefully that it almost seemed as though she were gliding. He'd seen beautiful women before, though, women who caught his eye, but to his mind they usually lacked the traits he found most desirable. Traits like intelligence, confidence, strength of spirit, passion, traits that inspired others to greatness, traits he aspired to himself.

"Me too," he said.

"I'm engaged."

It was a long moment before she answered.

"Since last December. I worked up north for a while, then spent the last three years in Europe."

He nodded and she went on.

"How long have you been back here?" she asked as the path gave way to a small grass hill.

"Yeah. My roots are here. This is where I'm supposed to be." He paused. "But what about you?" He asked the question softly, suspecting the worst.

"Congratulations," he finally said, wondering how convincing he sounded. "When's the big day?"

"Are you glad to be back home?"

She looked to him with questions in her eyes. "The war?"

He looked down when she said it, suddenly feeling just a bit weaker. So that was it. That's what she needed to tell him.

"I thought you might be there. I'm glad you made it out okay."

Allie had those traits, he knew, and as they walked now, he sensed them once again lingering beneath the surface. "A living poem" had always been the words that came to mind when he tried to describe her to others.

Noah took a couple of steps before answering. "He passed on earlier this year, right after I got back."

He nodded, not surprised. The Hammonds were one of the most powerful and influential families in the state. Cotton money. Unlike that of his own father, the death of Lon Hammond Sr. had made the front page of the newspaper. "I've heard of them. His father built quite a business. Did Lon take over for him?"

Her voice was distant when she answered, or at least he thought it was. Noah wondered if it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

"How's your daddy doing?" she asked.

"Lon?"

"He is. He works a lot."

He thought he heard something in her tone, and the next question came automatically.

"Does he treat you well?"

"With his name, he must be busy."

"Yes. He's a good man, Noah. You would like him."

She shook her head. "No, he's a lawyer. He has his own practice downtown."

She didn't answer right away, as if she were considering the question for the first time. Then:

"Lon Hammond Jr. My fiancé."

"Three weeks from Saturday. Lon wanted a November wedding."

"A lot of memories there, Allie."

"Do you ever think about it?"

She smiled. "I know. I saw it when I came in. Do you remember the day we spent there?"

"Sometimes," he said. "Usually when I'm working out this way. It sits on my property now."

They reached the top of the hill and stopped. The oak tree was in the distance, with the sun glowing orange behind it. Allie could feel his eyes on her as she stared in that direction.

"Yes," he answered, volunteering no more.

He nodded, and the two walked in silence for a moment.

He nodded. "Yeah. I never stopped. I guess it's in my blood."

"I'm no poet. I read, but I can't write a verse. I've tried."

"Do you know, you're the only poet I've ever met."

"You're still a poet, Noah Taylor Calhoun." Her voice softened. "I still think about it a lot. It was the first time anyone ever read poetry to me before. In fact, it's the only time."

"I'm sorry," she said softly, knowing how much he had meant to Noah.

She laughed under her breath, feeling strangely pleased about that. "Do you still read poetry?"

"I just couldn't bear to see it turned into kitchen cabinets."

"You bought it?"

"I don't know. Not long. Maybe until tomorrow or the next day."

Her comment made both of them drift back and remember as they slowly circled back to the house, following a new path that passed near the dock. As the sun dropped a little lower and the sky turned orange, he asked:

"Is your fiancé here on business?"

She shook her head. "No, he's still in Raleigh." Noah raised his eyebrows. "Does he know you're here?"

"I know. But for some reason, I had to do it in person."

Noah was a little surprised by her answer. It was one thing to come and visit, but it was an entirely different matter to hide the truth from her fiancé.

She hesitated. "I don't know…," she said, trailing off, and the way she said it made him believe her. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked in silence for a few steps. Then he asked:

She shook her head again and answered slowly. "No. I told him I was looking for antiques. He wouldn't understand my coming here."

"So, how long are you staying?"

"You didn't have to come here to tell me you were engaged. You could have written me instead, or even called."

"Why?"

"Allie, do you love him?"

She answered automatically. "Yes, I love him." The words hurt. But again, he thought he heard something in her tone, as if she were saying it to convince herself. He stopped and gently took her shoulders in his hands, making her face him. The fading sunlight reflected in her eyes as he spoke.

"I'm making the right decision, Noah."

Her answer came almost too quickly.

"If you're happy, Allie, and you love him, I won't try to stop you from going back to him. But if there's a part of you that isn't sure, then don't do it. This isn't the kind of thing you go into halfway."

She smiled a little. "It's okay. I really can't blame you."

"I'm sorry anyway."

He stared for a second, wondering if he believed her. Then he nodded and the two began to walk again. After a moment he said: "I'm not making this easy for you, am I?"

"Don't be. There's no reason to be sorry. I'm the one who should be apologizing. Maybe I should have written."

He shook his head. "To be honest, I'm still glad you came. Despite everything. It's good to see you again."

She looked at him curiously.

He smiled and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "Great. They're at the dock. I'll just be a couple of minutes."

"Sounds great. Where?"

"Thank you, Noah."

Allie watched him walk away and noticed the tension she'd felt when telling him about her engagement was beginning to fade. Closing her eyes, she ran her hands through her hair and let the light breeze fan her cheek. She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, feeling the muscles in her shoulders further relax as she exhaled. Finally, opening her eyes, she stared at the beauty that surrounded her.

"Do you think it would be possible to start over?"

"I'd like that."

"My house. I've had the traps out all week, and I saw that I had some good ones caged a couple days ago. Do you mind?"

"You were the best friend I ever had, Allie. I'd still like to be friends, even if you are engaged, and even if it is just for a couple of days. How about we just kind of get to know each other again?"

"Good. How about dinner? I know a place that serves the best crab in town."

She thought about it, thought about staying or leaving, and decided that since he knew about her engagement, it would probably be all right. Or at least not wrong. She smiled slightly and nodded.

"No, that sounds fine."

She started walking toward him then, listening to the crickets chirp, and remembered a lesson from childhood. She counted the number of chirps in a minute and added twenty-nine. Sixty-seven degrees, she thought as she smiled to herself. She didn't know if it was accurate, but it felt about right.

She always loved evenings like this, evenings where the faint aroma of autumn leaves rode on the backs of soft southern winds. She loved the trees and the sounds they made. Listening to them helped her relax even more. After a moment, she turned toward Noah and looked at him almost as a stranger might.

God, he looked good. Even after all this time. She watched him as he reached for a rope that hung in the water. He began to pull it, and despite the darkening sky, she saw the muscles in his arm flex as he lifted the cage from the water. He let it hang over the river for a moment and shook it, letting most of the water escape. After setting the trap on the dock, he opened it and began to remove the crabs one by one, placing them into a bucket.

"It was my daddy's chair," he said, not looking up, and she nodded. She saw bats in the sky, and frogs had joined the crickets in their evening harmony.

She stepped on the dock and it creaked under her foot. The sound reminded her of a rusty squeeze-box, and Noah glanced up and winked, then went back to checking the crabs, making sure they were the right size. She walked to the rocker that sat on the dock and touched it, running her hand along the back. She could picture him sitting in it, fishing, thinking, reading. It was old and weather-beaten, rough feeling. She wondered how much time he spent here alone, and she wondered about his thoughts at times like those.

As she walked, she looked around and realized she had forgotten how fresh and beautiful everything seemed here. Over her shoulder, she saw the house in the distance. He had left a couple of lights on, and it seemed to be the only house around. At least the only one with electricity. Out here, outside the town limits, nothing was certain. Thousands of country homes still lacked the luxury of indoor lighting.

She walked to the other side of the dock, feeling a sense of closure. A compulsion had driven her here, and for the first time in three weeks the feeling was gone. She'd somehow needed Noah to know about her engagement, to understand, to accept it -- she was sure of that now -- and while thinking of him, she was reminded of something they'd shared from the summer they were together. With head down, she paced around slowly, looking for it until she found it -- the carving. Noah loves Allie, in a heart. Carved into the dock a few days before she'd left.

"It's so peaceful here," she said, her voice dreamlike.

"I know. I come down here a lot now just to be close to the water. It makes me feel good."

"I would, too, if I were you."

A breeze broke the stillness and chilled her, making her cross her arms. She stood that way, alternately looking down at the carving and then toward the river, until she heard him reach her side. She could feel his closeness, his warmth, as she spoke.

"Come on, let's go. The mosquitoes are getting vicious, and I'm starved."

"Good enough," he said as he reached the back porch and started up the steps. He set the bucket by the door, then led the way inside, heading toward the kitchen. It was on the immediate right, large and smelling of new wood. The cabinets had been done in oak, as was the floor, and the windows were large and faced east, allowing the light from morning sun. It was a tasteful restoration, not overdone as was common when homes like this were rebuilt.

"No, I got in earlier and unpacked already." Her voice sounded different to her, as if the years had suddenly been undone.

He pointed to her car. "Did you leave anything in there that you need to get out?"

The sky had turned black, and Noah started toward the house, Allie right beside him. In the silence her mind wandered, and she felt a little light-headed as she walked along the path. She wondered what he was thinking about her being here and wasn't exactly sure if she knew herself. When they reached the house a couple of minutes later, Clem greeted them with a wet nose in the wrong place. Noah motioned her away, and she left with her tail between her legs.

"Do you mind if I look around?"

"No, go ahead. I did some shopping earlier, and I still have to put the groceries away."

He was standing by the counter, a couple of cabinet doors open wide, empty grocery bags on the floor, whistling quietly. He smiled at her before putting a few more cans into one of the cabinets. She stopped a few feet from him and leaned against the counter, one leg over the other. She shook her head, amazed at how much he had done.

Their eyes met for a second, and Allie knew as she turned that he continued to watch her as she left the room. Inside she felt that little twitch again.

She toured the house for the next few minutes, walking through the rooms, noticing how wonderful it looked. By the time she'd finished, it was hard to remember how run-down it had been. She came down the stairs, turned toward the kitchen, and saw his profile. For a second he looked like a young man of seventeen again, and it made her pause a split second before going on. Damn, she thought, get a hold of yourself. Remember that you're engaged now.

He laughed under his breath. "No. I always thought I would when I was young, and I started that way. But it was just too much. It would have taken years, and so I ended up hiring some people… actually a lot of people. But even with them, it was still a lot of work, and most of the time I didn't stop until past midnight."

"Did you do it yourself?"

He gathered the grocery bags and put them away, then walked to a small room off the kitchen before returning with a box of tea. He pulled out a couple of teabags and set them by the stove, then filled the teapot. After putting it on the burner, he lit a match, and she heard the sound of flames as they came to life.

"Not much, really. Beer, tea, coffee."

"I don't know. Just wanted to finish, I guess. Do you want anything to drink before I start dinner?"

Ghosts, he wanted to say, but didn't.

"What do you have?"

He looked up from the last bag he was unpacking. "Almost a year."

"Tea sounds good."

"It's unbelievable, Noah. How long did the restoration take?"

"Why'd you work so hard?"

"It'll be just a minute," he said. "This stove heats up pretty quick."

When the teapot whistled, he poured two cups and handed one to her.

"I'm going to get the crabs in to marinate for a few minutes before I steam 'em," he said, putting his cup on the counter. He went to the cupboard and removed a large pot with a steamer and lid. He brought the pot to the sink, added water, then carried it to the stove.

"That's fine."

She smiled and took a sip, then motioned toward the window. "I'll bet the kitchen is beautiful when the morning light shines in."

"Actually, I haven't had any guests stay over yet. Since my daddy passed on, I don't really know who to invite."

"I'm sure your guests enjoy that. Unless of course they want to sleep late."

He nodded. "It is. I had larger windows put in on this side of the house for just that reason. Even in the bedrooms upstairs."

By his tone, she knew he was just making conversation. Yet for some reason it made her feel… lonely. He seemed to realize how she was feeling, but before she could dwell on it, he changed the subject.

"Can I give you a hand with something?"

He answered over his shoulder. "Sure. How about cutting up some vegetables for the fryer. There's plenty in the icebox, and you can find a bowl over there."

Noah opened the beer and poured it in the water, then added the hot sauce and some other seasoning as well. After stirring the water to make sure the powders were dissolved, he went to the back door to get the crabs.

He paused for a moment before going back inside and stared at Allie, watching her cut the carrots. As he did that, he wondered again why she had come, especially now that she was engaged. None of this seemed to make much sense to him.

He motioned to the cabinet near the sink, and she took another sip of tea before setting her cup on the counter and retrieving the bowl. She carried it to the icebox and found some okra, zucchini, onions, and carrots on the bottom shelf. Noah joined her in front of the open door, and she moved to make room for him. She could smell him as he stood next to her -- clean, familiar, distinctive -- and felt his arm brush against her as he leaned over and reached inside. He removed a beer and a bottle of hot sauce, then returned to the stove.

He smiled to himself, remembering back to the way she had been. Fiery, spontaneous, passionate -- as he imagined most artists to be. And she was definitely that. Artistic talent like hers was a gift. He remembered seeing some paintings in the museums in New York and thinking that her work was just as good as what he had seen there.

She had given him a painting before she'd left that summer. It hung above the fireplace in the living room. She'd called it a picture of her dreams, and to him it had seemed extremely sensual. When he looked at it, and he often did late in the evening, he could see desire in the colors and the lines, and if he focused carefully, he could imagine what she had been thinking with every stroke.

But then, Allie had always been surprising.

"How's it going?" he asked, seeing she was almost finished.

A dog barked in the distance, and Noah realized he had been standing with the door open a long time. He quickly closed it, turning back to the kitchen. And as he walked, he wondered if she had noticed how long he'd been gone.

"Homemade?"

"Sure," she said.

"No. Just grab 'em like this," he said, demonstrating, and she smiled.

She leaned against the counter, standing close to him, and emptied her cup. When the crabs were ready he put them in the pot on the stove. He washed his hands, turning to speak to her as he did so.

"I have some homemade bread that I was planning on."

He wiped his hands, and together they went to the back porch. Noah flipped on the light as they went outside, and he sat in the older rocker, offering the newer one to her. When he saw her cup was empty, he went inside for a moment and emerged with another cup of tea and a beer for himself. He held out the cup and she took it, sipping again before she set it on the table beside the chairs.

"Aren't you afraid they'll pinch you when you grab them?"

"From a neighbor," he said as he put the pail in the sink. He started the faucet and began to rinse the crabs, holding them under the water, then letting them scurry around the sink while he rinsed the next one. Allie picked up her cup and came over to watch him.

"You want to sit on the porch for a few minutes? I'd like to let 'em soak for a half hour."

"I forget you've done this your whole life." "New Bern's small, but it does teach you how to do the things that matter."

"Good. I'm almost done here. Anything else for dinner?"

"Do you remember sneaking over here the night you first told me about this place?"

"I can see why," she said as she looked around. "So, what is it you do these days?"

He answered as he made himself comfortable. "Yeah. I sit out here every night. It's a habit now."

He smiled. "My old boss from up north. His name was Morris Goldman. He offered me a part of the business just as I enlisted and died before I got home. When I got back to the States, his lawyers gave me a check big enough to buy this place and fix it up."

"Excuse me?"

"Morris Goldman."

She laughed under her breath. "You always told me you'd find a way to do it."

"I got home a little late that evening, and my parents were furious when I finally came in. I can still picture my daddy standing in the living room smoking a cigarette, my mother on the sofa staring straight ahead. I swear, they looked as if a family member had died. That was the first time my parents knew I was serious about you, and my mother had a long talk with me later that night. She said to me, 'I'm sure you think that I don't understand what you're going through, but I do. It's just that sometimes, our future is dictated by what we are, as opposed to what we want.' I remember being really hurt when she said that."

They both sat quietly for a moment, thinking back again. Allie took another sip of tea.

"How can you… I mean…"

"Actually, I don't do anything but work on the house right now. It satisfies my creative urges."

He nodded, and she went on:

"You were sitting out here when I came, weren't you?"

Noah smiled softly at her answer but said nothing.

"You never answered my letters."

"Dozens of letters. I wrote you for two years without receiving a single reply."

"It wasn't that they didn't like you. They didn't think you deserved me."

"I know that. I always did. Maybe that's why my mother and I always seem to have a distance between us when we talk."

"You told me about it the next day. It hurt my feelings, too. I liked your parents, and I had no idea they didn't like me."

"I've thought about you ever since that summer," she said.

"How do you feel about it now?"

"The same as I did back then. That it's wrong, that it isn't fair. It was a terrible thing for a girl to learn. That status is more important than feelings."

"Why wouldn't you think so?" She seemed genuinely surprised.

"You wrote?"

"There's not much difference."

"You have?"

There was a sadness in his voice when he responded, and she knew he was right to feel that way. She looked toward the stars while she ran her hand through her hair, pulling back the strands that had fallen onto her face.

"It was wrong of her to do that, Noah, and I'm sorry she did. But try to understand. Once I left, she probably thought it would be easier for me to just let it go. She never understood how much you meant to me, and to be honest, I don't even know if she ever loved my father the way I loved you. In her mind, she was just trying to protect my feelings, and she probably thought the best way to do that was to hide the letters you sent."

"Would it have made a difference even if you'd got them?"

She slowly shook her head before lowering her eyes.

"I didn't know…," she finally said, quietly, and he knew it must have been her mother, checking the mail, removing the letters without her knowledge. It was what he had always suspected, and he watched as Allie came to the same realization.

"I know."

"No, I mean with us. Do you think we would have made it?"

It took a moment for her to answer.

"Of course. I always wondered what you were up to."

"I don't know, Noah. I really don't, and you don't either. We're not the same people we were then. We've changed, we've grown. Both of us."

"That wasn't her decision to make," he said quietly.

He nodded, looked down, then turned away. "What's Lon like?"

She paused. He didn't respond, and in the silence she looked toward the creek. She went on:

"But yes, Noah, I think we would have. At least, I'd like to think we would have."

She hesitated, not expecting the question. Bringing up Lon's name brought slight feelings of guilt to the surface, and for a moment she didn't know how to answer. She reached for her cup, took another sip of tea, and listened as a woodpecker tapped in the distance. She spoke quietly.

She surprised herself with her answer but knew it was true nonetheless. And she also knew by looking at him that Noah had suspected the answer in advance.

"Lon's handsome, charming, and successful, and most of my friends are insanely jealous. They think he's perfect, and in a lot of ways he is. He's kind to me, he makes me laugh, and I know he loves me in his own way." She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "But there's always going to be something missing in our relationship."

"Why?"

"I guess I still look for the kind of love we had that summer."

Noah thought about what she had said for a long while, thinking about the relationships he'd had since he'd last seen her.

She smiled weakly and shrugged as she answered. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"All the time. I still do."

"No," he answered, shaking his head.

"How about you?" she asked. "Did you ever think about us?"

"Are you seeing anyone?"

Both of them seemed to think about that, trying but finding it impossible to displace from their minds. Noah finished his beer, surprised that he had emptied it so quickly.

She shook her head, and Noah went to the kitchen and put the crabs in the steamer and the bread in the oven. He found some flour and cornmeal for the vegetables, coated them, and put some grease into the frying pan. After turning the heat on low, he set a timer and pulled another beer from the icebox before heading back to the porch. And while he was doing those things, he thought about Allie and the love that was missing from both their lives.

"I'm going to go start the water. Can I get you anything?"

Yet was it normal for her insides to twitch whenever he came near? Was it normal to confess things she could never tell anyone else? Was it normal to come here three weeks from her wedding day?

Noah came out at that moment and she smiled at him, glad he'd come back so she didn't have to think about it anymore. "It's going to take a few minutes," he said as he sat back down.

"No, it's not," she finally whispered to herself as she looked to the evening sky. "There's nothing normal about any of this."

"That's fine. I'm not that hungry yet."

"Me too. I almost didn't, though."

He looked at her then, and she saw the softness in his eyes. "I'm glad you came, Allie," he said.

Allie, too, was thinking. About Noah, about herself, about a lot of things. For a moment she wished she weren't engaged but then quickly cursed herself. It wasn't Noah she loved; she loved what they once had been. Besides, it was normal to feel this way. Her first real love, the only man she'd ever been with -- how could she expect to forget him?

I was compelled, she wanted to say, but didn't. "Just to see you, to find out what you've been up to. To see how you are."

He was right. She'd had a reason.

She shook her head. "Not anymore."

"Sure you do. You stopped for a reason."

She got up and followed him through the door to the living room. He stopped in front of the fireplace and pointed to the painting that hung above the mantel. She gasped, surprised she hadn't noticed it earlier, more surprised it was here at all.

He wondered if that was all but didn't question further. Instead he changed the subject.

He was stunned. "Why not? You have so much talent."

"I've got all night," he answered.

"I don't know…"

"Why did you come?"

"You kept it?"

"It's a long story."

"Did you really think I was talented?" she asked quietly.

"By the way, I've been meaning to ask, do you still paint?"

"Of course I kept it. It's wonderful."

"C'mon," he said, reaching for her hand, "I want to show you something."

She gave him a skeptical look, and he explained. "It makes me feel alive when I look at it. Sometimes I have to get up and touch it. It's just so real -- the shapes, the shadows, the colors. I even dream about it sometimes. It's incredible, Allie -- I can stare at it for hours."

"You're serious," she said, shocked.

"As serious as I've ever been."

"I've been drawing and painting since I was a child. I guess that once I got a little older, I began to think I was good at it. I enjoyed it, too. I remember working on this painting that summer, adding to it every day, changing it as our relationship changed. I don't even remember how it started or what I wanted it to be, but somehow it evolved into this.

"My professor did," she finally said, "but I guess I didn't believe him."

"You mean to tell me no one has ever told you that before?"

He knew there was more. Allie looked away before continuing.

She didn't say anything.

"I remember being unable to stop painting after I went home that summer. I think it was my way of avoiding the pain I was going through. Anyway, I ended up majoring in art in college because it was something I had to do; I remember spending hours in the studio all by myself and enjoying every minute. I loved the freedom I felt when I created, the way it made me feel inside to make something beautiful. Just before I graduated, my professor, who happened to also be the critic for the paper, told me I had a lot of talent. He told me I should try my luck as an artist. But I didn't listen to him."

She stopped there, gathering her thoughts.

"My parents didn't think it was proper for someone like me to paint for a living. I just stopped after a while. I haven't touched a brush in years."

"I'm not sure if I can anymore. It's been a long time."

"Do you think you'll ever paint again?"

She stared at the painting.

The words were spoken with such sincerity that she knew he wasn't saying it just to be nice. He truly believed in her ability, and for some reason that meant more to her than she expected. But something else happened then, something even more powerful.

"You can still do it, Allie. I know you can. You have a talent that comes from inside you, from your heart, not from your fingers. What you have can't ever go away. It's what other people only dream about. You're an artist, Allie."

Why it happened, she never knew, but this was when the chasm began to close for Allie, the chasm she had erected in her life to separate the pain from the pleasure. And she suspected then, maybe not consciously, that there was more to this than even she cared to admit.

And for just a fleeting moment, a tiny wisp of time that hung in the air like fireflies in summer skies, she wondered if she was in love with him again.

But at that moment she still wasn't completely aware of it, and she turned to face him. She reached over and touched his hand, hesitantly, gently, amazed that after all these years he'd somehow known exactly what she'd needed to hear. When their eyes locked, she once again realized how special he was.

The timer went off in the kitchen, a small ding, and Noah turned away, breaking the moment, strangely affected by what had just happened between them. Her eyes had spoken to him and whispered something he longed to hear, yet he couldn't stop the voice inside his head, her voice, that had told him of her love for another man. He silently cursed the timer as he walked to the kitchen and removed the bread from the oven. He almost burned his fingers, dropped the loaf on the counter, and saw that the frying pan was ready. He added the vegetables and heard them begin to crackle. Then, muttering to himself, he got some butter out of the icebox, spread some on the bread, and melted a bit more for the crabs.

Allie, too, was wondering about the moment and feeling warm as she thought of it. The words he'd spoken replayed in her head as she found everything she needed for the table: plates, place settings, salt and pepper. Noah handed her the bread as she was finishing the table, and their fingers touched briefly.

Noah used the bread knife as a pointer. "Sure, plates are over there. Utensils and napkins there. Make sure you get plenty -- crabs can be messy, so we'll need 'em." He couldn't look at her as he spoke. He didn't want to realize he'd been mistaken about what had just happened between them. He didn't want it to be a mistake.

"Can I get the table ready?"

"Have you ever had crab before?"

Allie had followed him into the kitchen and cleared her throat.

He turned his attention back to the frying pan and turned the vegetables. He lifted the lid of the steamer, saw the crabs still had a minute, and let them cook some more. He was more composed now and returned to small talk, easy conversation.

"A couple of times. But only in salads."

Allie put it on and smelled the fragrance that lingered in the shirt -- his smell, distinctive, natural.

"You didn't, though."

She laughed. "I know. It just reminds me of our first real date. You gave me your jacket that night, remember?"

"I prefer the words 'quiet confidence,'" he answered with a wink, and she smiled.

"Shy, maybe, or afraid. I don't know. It just didn't seem like the right thing to do at the time."

He nodded. "Yeah, I remember. Fin and Sarah were with us. Fin kept elbowing me the whole way back to your parents' house, trying to get me to hold your hand."

The vegetables and crabs were ready about the same time. "Be careful, they're hot," he said as he handed them to her, and they sat across from each other at the small wooden table. Then, realizing the tea was still on the counter, Allie stood and brought it over. After putting some vegetables and bread on their plates, Noah added a crab, and Allie sat for a moment, staring at it.

"Come to think of it, you were kind of shy, weren't you."

"No," he answered, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"Don't worry," he said, seeing her expression, "it's clean."

"Here, put this on. I don't want you to stain your dress."

He laughed. "Then you're in for an adventure. Hold on a second." He disappeared upstairs for a moment, then returned with a navy blue button-down shirt. He held it open for her.

"It looks like a bug."

"A good bug, though," he said. "Here, let me show you how it's done."

"Fin died in the war. His destroyer was torpedoed in forty-three."

He demonstrated quickly, making it look easy, removing the meat and putting it on her plate. Allie crushed the legs too hard the first time and the time after that, and had to use her fingers to get the shells away from the meat. She felt clumsy at first, worrying that he saw every mistake, but then she realized her own insecurity. He didn't care about things like that. He never had.

"So, whatever happened to Fin?" she asked.

It took a second for him to answer.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know he was a good friend of yours."

"He was. I think of him a lot these days. I especially remember the last time I saw him. I'd come home to say good-bye before I enlisted, and we ran into each other again. He was a banker here, like his daddy was, and he and I spent a lot of time together over the next week. Sometimes I think I talked him into joining. I don't think he would have, except that I was going to."

His voice changed, a little deeper now.

"You're right. I just miss him, is all."

"Of course," he answered, "why wouldn't I?" "You men always stick together," she said as she reached across the table, poking his arm with her finger. She went on. "So, tell me everything you've been up to since I saw you last."

She looked at him slyly. "He had a crush on me, you know."

"I liked him, too. He made me laugh."

They started to talk then, making up for lost time. Noah talked about leaving New Bern, about working in the shipyard and at the scrap yard in New Jersey. He spoke fondly of Morris Goldman and touched on the war a little, avoiding most of the details, and told her about his father and how much he missed him. Allie talked about going to college, painting, and her hours spent volunteering at the hospital. She talked about her family and friends and the charities she was involved with. Neither of them brought up anybody they had dated since they'd last seen each other. Even Lon was ignored, and though both of them noticed the omission, neither mentioned it.

Noah shrugged. "The usual for him. That he had to fight you off with a stick. That you chased him constantly, that sort of thing."

She laughed quietly. "Did you believe him?"

"I know. He told me about it."

"He did? What did he say?"

"He was always good at that."

"That's not fair," she said, sorry she'd brought up the subject.

But sitting here now, she realized what she'd been missing.

The sky grew darker and the moon rose higher as the evening wore on. And without either of them being conscious of it, they began to regain the intimacy, the bond of familiarity, they had once shared.

Afterward Allie tried to remember the last time she and Lon had talked this way. Although he listened well and they seldom argued, he was not the type of man to talk like this. Like her father, he wasn't comfortable sharing his thoughts and feelings. She'd tried to explain that she needed to be closer to him, but it had never seemed to make a difference.

Noah got up and refilled the teapot. They both brought the dishes to the sink and cleaned up the table, and he poured two more cups of hot water, adding teabags to both.

They finished dinner, both pleased with the meal, neither talking much now. Noah looked at his watch and saw that it was getting late. The stars were out in full, the crickets a little quieter. He had enjoyed talking to Allie and wondered if he'd talked too much, wondered what she'd thought about his life, hoping it would somehow make a difference, if it could.

For something had happened during dinner. Quite simply, he had fallen in love again. He knew that now as they sat next to one another. Fallen in love with a new Allie, not just her memory.

But then, he had never really stopped, and this, he realized, was his destiny.

"It's been quite a night," he said, his voice softer now.

"Yes, it has," she said, "a wonderful night." Noah turned to the stars, their twinkling lights reminding him that she would be leaving soon, and he felt almost empty inside. This was a night he wanted never to end. How should he tell her? What could he say that would make her stay?

He didn't know. And thus the decision was made to say nothing. And he realized then that he had failed.

"How about the porch again?" he asked, handing her the cup, and she agreed, leading the way. He grabbed a quilt for her in case she got cold, and soon they had taken their places again, the quilt over her legs, rockers moving. Noah watched her from the corner of his eye. God, she's beautiful, he thought. And inside, he ached.

"What should I say?"

The rockers moved in quiet rhythm. Bats again, over the river. Moths kissing the porch light. Somewhere, he knew, there were people making love.

"Talk like you did to me under the oak tree." And he did, reciting distant passages, toasting the night. Whitman and Thomas, because he loved the images. Tennyson and Browning, because their themes felt so familiar.

She rested her head against the back of the rocker, closing her eyes, growing just a bit warmer by the time he'd finished. It wasn't just the poems or his voice that did it. It was all of it, the whole greater than the sum of the parts. She didn't try to break it down, didn't want to, because it wasn't meant to be listened to that way. Poetry, she thought, wasn't written to be analyzed; it was meant to inspire without reason, to touch without understanding.

"Talk to me," she finally said, her voice sensual. Or was his mind playing tricks?

Because of him, she'd gone to a few poetry readings offered by the English department while in college. She'd sat and listened to different people, different poems, but had stopped soon after, discouraged that no one inspired her or seemed as inspired as true lovers of poetry should be.

But there was something else that made her want to wait, and it had to do with Lon himself. He was driven in his work, and it always commanded most of his attention. Work came first, and for him there was no time for poems and wasted evenings and rocking on porches. She knew this was why he was successful, and part of her respected him for that. But she also sensed it wasn't enough. She wanted something else, something different, something more. Passion and romance, perhaps, or maybe quiet conversations in candlelit rooms, or perhaps something as simple as not being second.

They rocked for a while, drinking tea, sitting quietly, drifting in their thoughts. The compulsion that had driven her here was gone now -- she was glad for this -- but she worried about the feelings that had taken its place, the stirrings that had begun to sift and swirl in her pores like gold dust in river pans. She'd tried to deny them, hide from them, but now she realized that she didn't want them to stop. It had been years since she'd felt this way.

Lon could not evoke these feelings in her. He never had and probably never would. Maybe that was why she had never been to bed with him. He had tried before, many times, using everything from flowers to guilt, and she had always used the excuse that she wanted to wait until marriage. He took it well, usually, and she sometimes wondered how hurt he would be if he ever found out about Noah.

Noah, too, was sifting through his thoughts. To him, the evening would be remembered as one of the most special times he had ever had. As he rocked, he remembered it all in detail, then remembered it again. Everything she had done seemed somehow electric to him, charged.

Now, sitting beside her, he wondered if she'd ever dreamed the same things he had in the years they'd been apart. Had she ever dreamed of them holding each other again and kissing in soft moonlight? Or did she go further and dream of their naked bodies, which had been kept separate for far too long…

He looked to the stars and remembered the thousands of empty nights he had spent since they'd last seen each other. Seeing her again brought all those feelings to the surface, and he found it impossible to press them back down. He knew then he wanted to make love to her again and to have her love in return. It was what he needed most in the world.

Allie knew by his silence that he was thinking about her and found that she reveled in it. She didn't know what his thoughts were exactly, didn't care really, just knew they were about her and that was enough.

But he also realized it could never be. Now that she was engaged.

She put down the tea, then ran her hands through her hair, closing her eyes as she did so.

"Are you tired?" he asked, finally breaking free from his thoughts.

"A little. I should really be going in a couple of minutes."

She thought about their conversation at dinner and wondered about loneliness. For some reason she couldn't picture him reading poetry to someone else or even sharing his dreams with another woman. He didn't seem the type. Either that, or she didn't want to believe it.

She looked at Noah next. The scar on his face was visible from the side. She wondered if it had happened during the war, then wondered if he'd ever been wounded at all. He hadn't mentioned it and she hadn't asked, mostly because she didn't want to imagine him being hurt.

She didn't get up right away. Instead she picked up the cup and drank the last swallow of tea, feeling it warm her throat. She took the evening in. Moon higher now, wind in the trees, temperature dropping.

"I should go," she finally said, handing the quilt back to him.

"I know," he said, nodding, his tone neutral.

"I did, too," she answered.

She didn't ask why, because she wanted to keep it, too. She readjusted it and crossed her arms afterward to ward off the chill. For some reason, as she stood there she was reminded of standing on her front porch after a high school dance, waiting for a kiss.

Noah nodded, then stood without a word. He carried the quilt, and the two of them walked to her car while fallen leaves crunched beneath their feet. She started to take off the shirt he'd loaned her as he opened the door, but he stopped her.

"Keep it," he said. "I want you to have it."

"I had a great time tonight," he said. "Thank you for finding me."

A simple question. She knew what the answer should be, especially if she wanted to keep her life simple. "I don't think we should," was all she had to say, and it would end right here and now. But for a second she didn't say anything.

The demon of choice confronted her then, teased her, challenged her. Why couldn't she say it? She didn't know. But as she looked in his eyes to find the answer she needed, she saw the man she'd once fallen in love with, and suddenly it all came clear.

He summoned his courage. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"No, but it's a special place."

"Sure. What do you want to do?"

"Where is it?"

"You'll see," he answered. "I know just the place to go."

"Have I ever been there before?"

"I'd like that."

"Can you be here about noon?"

Noah was surprised. He hadn't expected her to answer this way. He wanted to touch her then, to take her in his arms, but he didn't.

"See you tomorrow," she said, her eyes reflecting the moonlight.

She turned away before he could attempt a kiss. She didn't know if he would try but knew for some reason that if he did, she would have a hard time stopping him. She couldn't handle that right now, with everything going through her head. She slid behind the wheel, breathing a sigh of relief. He shut the door for her, and she started the engine. As the car idled, she rolled down the window just a bit.

"It's a surprise."

"Will I like it?"

Noah waved as she backed the car out. She turned it around, then drove up the lane, heading toward town. He watched the car until the lights vanished behind far-off oak trees and the engine noise was gone. Clem wandered up to him and he squatted down to pet her, paying special attention to her neck, scratching the spot she couldn't reach anymore. After he looked up the road one last time, they returned to the back porch side by side.

"You'll love it," he said.

He didn't know how to stop them.

And sometime after midnight on that clear October evening, it all rushed inward and Noah was overcome with longing. And if anyone had seen him, they would have seen what looked like an old man, someone who'd aged a lifetime in just a couple of hours. Someone bent over in his rocker with his face in his hands and tears in his eyes.

He sat in the rocker again, this time alone, trying once again to fathom the evening that had just passed. Thinking about it. Replaying it. Seeing it again. Hearing it again. Running it by in slow motion. He didn't feel like playing his guitar now, didn't feel like reading. Didn't know what he felt.

"She's engaged," he finally whispered, and then was silent for hours, his rocker making the only noise. The night was quiet now, with little activity except for Clem, who visited him occasionally, checking on him as if to ask "Are you all right?"