“You know I had to leave. If you’d waited—”
“It doesn’t matter now.” With a shake of her head she backed away. She would never be able to explain to him why it hadn’t been possible to wait. “It doesn’t matter because in a few days you’ll be gone again. I won’t let you whirl in and out of my life and leave my emotions in chaos. We both made our choices, Jason.”
“Damn it, I missed you.”
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were dry. “I had to stop missing you. Please leave me alone, Jason. If I thought we could be friends—”
“We always were.”
“Always is gone.” Nonetheless she held out both hands and took his. “Oh, Jason, you were my best friend, but I can’t welcome you home because you scare the hell out of me.”
“Faith.” He curled his fingers around hers. “We need more time, to talk.”
Looking at him she let out a long breath. “You know where to find me, Jason. You always did.”
“Let me walk you home.”
“No.” Calmer, she smiled. “Not this time.”
From the window of his room, Jason could see most of Main Street. He could, if he chose, watch the flow of business in Porterfield’s Five and Dime or the collection of people who walked through and loitered in the town square. Too often he found the direction of his gaze wandering to the white house near the end of the street. Because he’d been restless, Jason had been up and at the window when Faith had walked outside with Clara to see her off to school with a group of other children. He’d seen her crouch down to adjust the collar of her daughter’s coat. And he’d seen her stand, hatless, her back to him, as she’d watched the children drag themselves off for a day of books. She’d stood there a long time with the wind pulling and tugging at her hair, and he’d waited for her to turn, to look at the inn, to acknowledge somehow that she knew he was there. But she’d walked around the side of the house to her shop without looking back.
Now, hours later, he was at the window again, still restless. From the number of people he could see walk back to the Doll House, her business was thriving. She was working, busy, while he was standing unshaven at a window with his portable typewriter sitting silent on the desk beside him.
He’d planned to work on his novel for a few days—the novel he’d promised himself he’d write. It was just one more promise he’d never been able to keep because of the demands of travel and reporting. He’d expected to be able to work here, in the quiet, settled town of his youth away from the demands of journalism and the fast pace he’d set for himself. He’d expected a lot of things. What he hadn’t expected was to find himself just as wildly in love with Faith as he’d been at twenty.
Jason turned away from the window and stared at his typewriter. The papers were there, notes bulging in manila envelopes, the half-finished manuscript pages. He could sit down and make himself work through the day into the night. He had the discipline for it. But in his life there was more than a book that was half finished. He was just coming to realize it.
By the time he’d shaved and dressed, it was past noon. He thought briefly about walking across the street to Mindy’s to see if she still served the best homemade soup in town. Buthe didn’t feel like chatty counter talk. Deliberately he turned south, away from Faith. He wouldn’t make a fool of himself by chasing after her.
As he walked, he passed a half a dozen people he knew. He was greeted with thumps on the back, handshakes and avid curiosity. He’d strolled down the Left Bank, up Carnaby Street and along the narrow streets of Venice. After a decade of absence he found the walk down Main Street just as fascinating. There was a barber pole that swirled up and around and back into itself. A life-size cardboard Santa stood outside a dress shop gesturing passersby inside.
Spotting a display of poinsettias, Jason slipped into the store and bought the biggest one he could carry. The saleswoman had been in his graduating class and detained him for ten minutes before he could escape. He’d expected questions, but he hadn’t guessed that he’d become the town celebrity. Amused, he made his way down the street as he had countless times before. When he reached the Widow Marchant’s, he didn’t bother with the front door. Following an old habit, he went around the back and knocked on the storm door. It still rattled. It was a small thing that pleased him enormously.
When the widow opened the door, and her little bird’s eyes peered through the bright-red leaves of the flowers, he found himself grinning like a ten-year-old.
“It’s about time,” she said as she let him in. “Wipe your feet.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jason scrubbed his boots against the rough mat before he set down the poinsettia on her kitchen table.
No more than five feet tall, the widow stood with her hands on her hips. She was bent a bit with age and her face was a melody of lines and wrinkles. The bib apron she wore was covered with flour. Jason smelled cookies in the oven andheard the majestic sound of classical music from the living-room speakers. The widow nodded at the flowers.
“You always went for the big statement.” When she turned to look him up and down, Jason found himself automatically standing tall. “Put on a few pounds I see, but more wouldn’t hurt. Come, give me a kiss.”
He bent to peck her cheek dutifully, then found himself gathering her close. She felt frail; he hadn’t realized it by looking at her, but she still smelled of all the good things he remembered—soap and powder and warm sugar.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” he murmured as he straightened up.
“I knew you were here.” She turned to fuss at the oven because her eyes had filled. “I knew before the ink dried where you signed the registration at the inn. Sit down and take off your coat. I have to get these cookies out.”
He sat quietly while she worked and absorbed the feeling of home. It was here he’d always been able to come as a child and feel safe. While he watched, she began to heat chocolate in a dented little pan on the stove.
“How long you staying?”
“I don’t know. I’m supposed to be in Hong Kong in a couple of weeks.”
“Hong Kong.” The widow pursed her lips as she arranged cookies on a plate. “You’ve been to all your places, Jason. Were they as exciting as you thought?”
“Some were.” He stretched out his legs. He’d forgotten what it was to relax, body, soul and mind. “Some weren’t.”
