Page 135 of Van Cort

“Same fucking thing when it comes to you.” He chuckles a little and sips his drink, leaning back on the bench. “Why are you calm? It’s been weeks. What if she’s not okay?”

“She’s fine.” How does he know that?

“You’ve spoken to her?”

“No. I know people who have, though. She’s settled in and is impressing whom she needs to.”

“So, you’re trailing her. Obsessive tendencies coming back, are they?” He snorts.

“Do you honestly think I’d let her just go to New York without knowing where she is?” Fair point.

“What if she doesn’t call?”

“She will.”

I could roll my eyes out of my head. “Oh yes, of course she will. She must, mustn’t she? Because everything does as you tell it to. Is it even plausible to you that she might just think, ‘screw that pair of assholes’ and move on?”

“You asked if she’d call. She will. I didn’t say we’d like the answer.” I scowl and get up from the bench to pace. “You need something to do with yourself, West. Why don’t you go back to the house and deal with it?”

“And do what? Burn it to the ground? Redecorate? Put some fucking dynamite under it?” He fiddles with his cufflink, raising his chin up, as he looks along the Sound. “Why are you fidgeting?”

“I’m not.”

“You are. What are you not talking about?” He takes another drink, still not answering. “Rhett?”

“You could go bury the music box.” My body rears back from him. “You probably need to.”

“What?”

“You know what I’m saying, West. It’s time for the past to be buried. It won’t do either of us any good in the future.”

I turn to look at the ocean. “It might serve as a good reminder for you to think more and act less.”

“If you still believe that’s necessary, then none of this will ever work. You need to let go. Of all of it, West.” I nod, knowing he’s right. It’s hard, though.

“You don’t want to come with me?” He shakes his head.

“No. My life is River and you and nothing else. Do whatever you need to do to make sure it’s the same for you.”

We sit in amicable silence for a while, me thinking, him barely moving. And the more I think, the more my mind continuously thinks of Andie rather than Lara. I don’t know what that means to my memories of the past, but it does prove that whatever hatred used to live inside me is gone.

Love replaced it, I guess. Hope.

“What do you want to do if she does come back to us?” I must look confused because he gets up and nods at me to follow. “Let’s walk.” A group of women look at him as he turns for the track down to the main pathway, then giggle as I come into view behind him.

“We missed a lot of years getting that kind of reaction.”

He looks over at them, frowning and not the least bit welcoming to their approach. “I suppose we did, but I expect we both got what we needed to pass the time through those years.” We walk on, both of us in perfect step, both of us in perfect unison. “Was there ever anyone special for you?”

“You mean other than Lara?” He doesn’t react, other than side-eyeing me, and in some ways, I chastise myself for even bringing her up. “No. No one. As you say, I passed the time.”

“Is there anything left that you need to discuss about her?” Lara, he means.

I sip my coffee and try to think about what’s transpired since I’ve been back, and how I now feel about that time long ago. “I’m still not sure I can reconcile your behaviour, but we’re here now and…” I drift off, unsure what should finish the sentence.

“And what?”

“I don’t know, Rhett. You’re asking me to forget about something you did to a woman I loved.”