The Notebook (The Notebook 1)

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.

"I'd like that."

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.

"Can you be here about noon?"

"Sure. What do you want to do?"

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

"Have I ever been there before?"

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

"Where is it?"

"It's a surprise."

"Will I like it?"

"You'll love it," he said.

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.

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

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.

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?"

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 didn't know how to stop them.

Phone Calls

Lon hung up the phone.

He had called at seven, then at eight-thirty, and now he checked his watch again. Nine forty-five.

Where was she?

He knew she was where she had said she would be because he had spoken to the manager earlier. Yes, she had checked in and he had last seen her around six. Going to dinner, he thought. No, he hadn't seen her since.

Lon shook his head and leaned back in his chair. He was the last one in the office, as usual, and everything was quiet. But that was normal with an ongoing trial, even if the trial was going well. Law was his passion, and the late hours alone gave him the opportunity to catch up on his work without interruption.

He knew he would win the case because he mastered the law and charmed the jury. He always did, and losses were infrequent now. Part of it came from being able to select the cases he had the expertise to win. He had reached that level in his practice. Only a select few in the city had that kind of stature, and his earnings reflected that.

But the more important part of his success came from hard work. He had always paid attention to details, especially when he'd begun his practice. Little things, obscure things, and it had become a habit now. Whether it was a matter of law or presentation, he was diligent in his study, and it had won him a few cases early in his career when he should have lost.

And now, a little detail bothered him.

Not about the case. No, that was fine. It was something else.

Something about Allie.

But damn, he couldn't put his finger on it. He was fine when she'd left this morning. At least he thought he was. But sometime after her call, maybe an hour or so, something clicked in his mind. The little detail.

Detail.

Something insignificant? Something important? Think . . . think . . . Damn, what was it?

His mind clicked.

Something . . . something . . . something said? Something had been said? Yes, that was it. He knew it. But what was it? Had Allie said anything on the phone? That had been when it started, and he ran through the conversation again. No, nothing out of the ordinary.

But that was it, he was sure now.

What had she said?

Her trip was good, she had checked in, had done some shopping. Left her number. That's about all.

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.

But more than that, he admired the way she'd always spoken her mind. He remembered that after they'd gone out a few times, he'd said to her what he said to all women he dated--that he wasn't ready for a steady relationship. Unlike the others, though, Allie had simply nodded and said, "Fine." But on her way out the door, she'd turned and said: "But your problem isn't me, or your job, or your freedom, or whatever else you think it is. Your problem is that you're alone. Your father made the Hammond name famous, and you've probably been compared to him all your life. You've never been your own person. A life like that makes you empty inside, and you're looking for someone who will magically fill that void. But no one can do that but you."

The words had stayed with him that night and rung true the following morning. He'd called again, asked for a second chance, and after some persistence, she'd reluctantly agreed.

In the four years they'd dated, she'd become everything he ever wanted, and he knew he s

hould spend more time with her. But practicing 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. No. Nothing. What, then?

C'mon, don't fail now. Think, damn it, think. New Bern.

The thought popped into his head just then. 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.

Another part. . . but there was more. . . .

Allie, New Bern . . . and . . . and . . . something at a party. A comment in passing. From Allie's mother. He'd hardly noticed it. But what had she said?

And Lon paled then, remembering. Remembering what had been said so long ago. Remembering what Allie's mother had said.

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 even more deeply than she loved him.

And now she was there. Interesting.

Lon brought his palms together, as though he were praying, resting them against his lips. Coincidence? Could be nothing. Could be exactly what she said. Could be stress and antique shopping. Possible. Even probable.

Yet . . . yet . . . what if?

Lon considered the other possibility, and for the first time in a long time, he became frightened.

What if? What if she's with him?

He cursed the trial, wishing it were over. Wishing he had gone with her. Wondering if she'd told him the truth, hoping that she had.