The Notebook (The Notebook #1)(10)

“What is it?”

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.

“I don’t know how to say it. I thought I did at first, but now I’m not so sure. . . .”

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.

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.

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

“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.”

“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.”

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

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

“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.

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.

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

“I’m being rather silly, aren’t I?” she asked, trying to smile.

“What do you mean?”

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

“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: “Even though I don’t know why, I can see this is hard for you. Why don’t we go for a walk?”

“Like we used to?”

“Why not? I think we both could use one.”

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

He nodded and she went on.

“I thought you might be there. I’m glad you made it out okay.”

“Me too,” he said.

“Are you glad to be back home?”

“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.

It was a long moment before she answered.

“I’m engaged.”

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.

“Congratulations,” he finally said, wondering how convincing he sounded. “When’s the big day?”

“Three weeks from Saturday. Lon wanted a November wedding.”

“Lon?”

“Lon Hammond Jr. My fiancé.”

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?”

She shook her head. “No, he’s a lawyer. He has his own practice downtown.”