True North

Chapter 51

"You know, when you said 'wherever we end up', I never imagined this," Brian said, his feet dangling just inches above the water that flowed beneath the wooden pier of the boat landing. Neglecting his vigil of the tiny plastic bobber that floated on the surface of the water, he preferred to watch Stormy instead as she sat beside him rigging her pole up for another cast.

She expertly speared a worm with her fishhook one last time before turning to face him.

"You don't like fishing?" she asked, stricken.

"No, that's not it," he assured her. "I'm just surprised that you do."

Stormy flashed him a stellar grin that literally stole his breath, but she seemed unaware of the effect as she turned and lobbed her line smoothly out into the distance.

"I haven't been in years," she admitted. "But you said you wanted to get out of the house, and there's nothing worth seeing at the movie theater, sooo..."

"Here we are," he finished for her as he reeled in his line. "Well, this is definitely better than sitting in a movie theater." He tossed out his line again nudged her elbow with his. "At least here, we won't get kicked out for talking."

"True," Stormy conceded, glancing back over her shoulder. "But we could get thrown out for loitering."

Brian turned to follow her gaze and was shocked to see that the parking lot, which had been more than half full when they had first arrived, was now nearly empty.

"Where'd everybody go?"

Stormy laughed. "Home, perhaps? It's after eight o'clock."

"It is?" Brian noticed for the first time that the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, and he could barely make out the shape of their bobbers out on the water. "Wow! I can't believe we've been here almost four hours!"

"Time flies when you're having fun," Stormy reminded him.

Brian smiled, wondering if she was having nearly as much fun as he was. He hoped so.

"We should probably go," Stormy said, and they reeled in their lines in silence.

No words passed between them as they traversed the length of the short pier and crossed to the far side of the parking lot, where the old Buick was parked. Stormy popped the trunk open, and Brian tossed the tackle box and poles inside before slamming the lid firmly shut again. He leaned back against the rear bumper, not wanting the night to end just yet.

"Let's take a walk," Brian suggested.

"A walk?" Stormy repeated.

"There's a new trail that runs alongside the river," he said, pointing to a wooded area on the far side of the lot. "It goes all the way to the town park."

"But your leg—"

"I'll manage," he cut in. "Unless you'd rather go home?"

"God, no!" she laughed. "Anywhere but there!"

The trail was ensconced in the shade of pines that bordered both sides, and the air temperature was significantly cooler here than it had been on the sun-drenched pier. The hard-packed earth beneath their feet was blanketed with needles shed in years past, their every footfall adding to the redolence of pine and earthy decay. The river whispered just beyond the trees to their left, and the slanted rays of the setting sun stole in among the empty spaces, casting long peachy-gold shadows across the forest floor. The days were growing shorter, and summer's end was closing in fast.

Too fast, Brian thought, stealing a glance at Stormy.

"The nights are getting cooler," she noted offhandedly. "Have you noticed?"

"You read my mind," he confessed. "I was just realizing that we're on the downhill side of summer."

"It's kind of depressing, in a way," Stormy admitted. "I always hate to see the summer end, even though autumn is my favorite season."

"It is?" Brian asked, trying to keep from sounding too hopeful. "So, will you still be here in autumn?"

"I don't know," Stormy shrugged. "Dad's expecting me to leave mid-July or so."

"But where will you go? You quit your job in Kennebunkport, and you gave up your apartment..."

"You have been paying attention, haven't you?" she grinned, clearly impressed.

Hanging on every word, he answered silently.

"Actually..." she began. "I was thinking about maybe going to Michigan for a while."

Alarm bells rang in Brian's head, and he had to fight to keep them out of his voice when he spoke.

"Michigan?" he echoed, hoping it sounded like a casual inquiry. "Why Michigan?"

"That's where my mother was from," Stormy said. "I was born there, actually. Dad was out there working at some factory, and that's where he met my mother. After she died, he moved back to Aubry to live with my grandmother, and... well, you pretty much know the rest."

"Your dad told you that?"

"Not on purpose," she confessed. "But every once in a while, if I bugged him about it long enough, he'd let something slip. I just had to piece it together."

"But... why Michigan?" Brian asked again. "What are you hoping to find?"

Stormy shrugged. "I don't know. From what I gather, my mother was an only child, and both of her parents were dead. But there's got to be someone, right? A friend, a roommate, an ex-boyfriend—something! If I could just talk to someone who knew her, who could tell me who she really was and what she was like..."

Brian turned away, grateful for the stone bench that had suddenly materialized beside the trail. He sank down onto it, praying that the anguish he felt inside didn't show on his face. Stormy sat down beside him, bracing her hands on the bench behind her and gazing up into the early evening sky.

"I know—crazy, huh?" she sighed. "I wouldn't even know where to start anyhow. Maybe I'll just throw a dart at the map and go."

"What about staying here?" The words were out of his mouth before he even realized he was thinking them.

Stormy sat at attention, her arm briefly brushing against his.

"In Aubry?" she clarified, as if the thought had never occurred to her. She nibbled on her lower lip as she considered the idea. "I don't know. I've spent so much time running away from this place... I've never really thought about staying."

Brian glanced sidelong in her direction, at her hand resting lightly on the thigh of her faded blue jeans. Without thinking, he reached over and slid his own hand beneath hers, spreading her fingers out across his palm. Her hands seemed impossibly small and delicate next to his own. He traced his thumb down the length of her fingers and over the pale crescent moons of her nails, and then shifted his hand to thread his fingers easily through hers. He couldn't remember the last time something had felt so right, and as he studied the coupling of their hands in the gathering darkness, it was hard to tell where one left off and the other began. He raised his eyes up to hers to find her staring back at him, completely dumbstruck.

"Maybe you could think about it now," he suggested.