The Not | Page 6

course. New Bern was haunted now. Haunted by
the ghost of her memory. He saw her in Fort Totten Park, their place,
every time he walked by. When he sat on the porch at night with his
guitar, he saw her beside him, listening as he played the music of his
childhood. Everywhere he looked, he saw things that brought her
back to life.
Noah shook his head, and when her image began to fade he returned
to Whitman. He read for an hour, looking up every now and then to
see raccoons and possums scurrying near the creek. At nine thirty he

closed the book, went upstairs to the bedroom and wrote in his
journal. Forty minutes later he was sleeping. Clem wandered up the
stairs, sniffed him as he slept, and then paced in circles before finally
curling up at the foot of his bed.
EARLIER THAT evening and a hundred miles away, she sat alone
on the porch swing of her parents’ home, one leg tucked beneath her,
wondering if she’d made the right decision. She’d struggled with it
for days—and had struggled some more this evening—but in the end
she knew she would never forgive herself if she let the opportunity
slip away.
Lon didn’t know the real reason she left the following morning. The
week before, she’d hinted to him that she might want to visit some
antique shops near the coast. “It’s just a couple of days,” she said,
“and besides, I need a break from planning the wedding.” She felt bad
about the lie, but knew there was no way she could tell him the truth.
Her leaving had nothing to do with him, and it wouldn’t he fair of her
to ask him to understand.
It was an easy drive from Raleigh, slightly more than two hours, and
she arrived a little before eleven. She checked into a small inn
downtown, went to her room and unpacked her suitcase, hanging her
dresses in the closet and putting everything else in the drawers. She
had a quick lunch, asked the waitress for directions to the nearest
antique stores, then spent the next few hours shopping. By four thirty
she was back in her room.
She sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the phone and called Lon.
He couldn’t speak long, but before they hung up she gave him the
phone number where she was staying and promised to call the
following day. Good, she thought while hanging up the phone.
Routine conversation, nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to make
him suspicious.
She’d known him almost four years now, it was 1942 when they
met, the world at war and America one year in. Everyone was doing
their part and she was volunteering at the hospital downtown. The
first waves of wounded young soldiers were coming home, and she

spent her days with broken men and shattered bodies. When Lon, with
his easy charm, introduced himself