EPILOGUE

Two weeks later

“It’s a beautiful day and we’ve been hermits for the last couple of weeks. That’s not like a couple of workaholics like us,” James said. “How about going for a drive to clear the cobwebs out of our heads?”

“Do you have cobwebs?” Catherine asked. “I feel like I just have sand. I’d love to go for a drive.”

As they sped along, the seriousness gradually leaving their faces, James mentioned again how happy he was that Eric had won the election and was now Sheriff Montgomery. “I’ll be getting out of parking tickets right and left.”

“That’s what you think. Eric isn’t big on breaking the rules.”

She seemed to drift away for a moment, then snapped back when James mentioned Gaston. “Eric had someone at the morgue call him when Gaston came to claim Renée’s body. He cornered him and asked a few questions—there wasn’t much else he could do because Gaston hadn’t broken any laws. Anyway, the old pervert told Eric he’d come here to search for the person who’d killed his daughter. He told Eric if he’d found the person and had proof, he would have brought it straight to the sheriff.” He paused. “Both Eric and I have doubts about that last statement.”

“Well-founded doubts,” Catherine said. “With a man like Gaston, you don’t know if he just wanted to know who killed Renée, or if he would have murdered her killer. It’s impossible to know how he felt about her. Probably just possessive. He wanted to avenge her death because she was his property, not because he loved her. He’s incapable of love.”

“Well, at least he’s taken her home. And I think she’ll be placed in the Moreau mausoleum, no matter what Audrey says.”

They drove on in silence for a while. Then Catherine noticed they were traveling south, passing the Aurora Falls she hoped she would be able to look at again by spring without the dreadful memory of the explosion. On they drove, James slipping in a Tchaikovsky CD he knew she liked, until she began to recognize the remains of cornfields and remembered a bright October day when she’d traveled this way in Marissa’s red convertible Mustang.

“James, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“No, it isn’t. James, I think you’re taking me somewhere I really don’t want to go.”

“You can make up your mind when we get there. For now, just give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Catherine sank unhappily in her seat, not at all surprised when James made a right turn just past the November ruins of cornfields. Finally they turned onto Perry Lane. Catherine remembered how annoyed Marissa had been that Catherine had yelled, “Turn right” and scared Marissa into slamming on the brakes in the middle of the highway, then tried to divert her anger by asking if the Beatles had done a song named “Perry Lane.”

Finally they swung a wide circle in the road, and after passing distant lines of trees varying from dark red to yellow to orange James pulled to the side of the road. For a moment he didn’t say anything. Then he asked, “Well?”

“This isn’t the same place—I mean I know it must be—but it looks so different from where the cottage was.”

“I had the cottage completely destroyed and all the trash hauled away along with the diseased evergreens. I had the land flattened and a big birdhouse put about a hundred yards north of where the cottage used to stand. I thought it could be sort of a focal point for what’s now the center of the lot. It always was the center of the lot, actually. Grandpa put the cottage nearer to the dock.”

“I see.”

“In the spring, I plan to have the dock rebuilt, build a fabulous boathouse, have the riprap replaced on the riverbank, put in a sturdy fence to separate the level ground from the riverbank, and lots of trees and shrubs planted for color and … well, interest.”

“What about the cistern?”

“It’s been removed, Catherine. Every last trace of it.” She stared at the spot where she remembered it being. “Your line of sight is off,” James said. “That’s quite a few feet from where it was. You see? You don’t even remember it that well.”

“Oh, I remember it. Maybe not the exact location, but I remember it.”

“Okay, I stand corrected. Anyway, I’m going to hire a landscape artist to design and plant a big perennial garden with brick walkways. That will completely cover the area where the cistern was. And hey, look at my grandmother’s apple orchard! The leaves on the trees are turning brown now. And to my way of thinking, it’s pretty small to be an actual orchard. It could be expanded. Let’s take a closer look.”

Catherine got out of the car slowly and closed her door. She had to admit that without the shabby cottage, the overgrown, diseased evergreens, the fallen shutters, the pothole-filled gravel driveway, the place looked entirely different. Although some heavy clouds floated over now and then, a pale golden sun still shone through onto the turning leaves of the trees. Even a few birds were already investigating the big birdhouse.

“What do you think?” James asked.

“Well … I’d like to say it looks better than it did, but actually, it doesn’t even look like the same place.” After a moment of silence, she said, “It looks like it could be beautiful.”

“Could be beautiful?”

“With the right house. Maybe a ‘Cape Cod,’” they said at the same time, then broke into laughter. “I guess great minds run the same.”

“Great taste runs the same.” James stepped closer to Catherine, putting his left hand in his jacket pocket and his right arm around her neck. “Do you think you might like to live out here? I know it’s farther from the center than you are now and there aren’t many neighbors, although I’ve heard that a few folks are buying up land out here with plans to level the old fishing cottages and build nice houses.”

“Are you telling me you’re going to build a house out here, James?”

“I’m telling you that I’ve given it a lot of thought. It all depends on one thing.”

“And what would that thing be?”

“On whether you think you’d like to live here.” Catherine could do nothing but stare at him. “Catherine Gray, I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone. When I was young, I was too stupid to know it, but I hope time has taught me a few lessons.” Catherine felt her eyes fill up with tears. “My darling girl, will you at least think about marrying me?” Catherine burst into a hiccoughing sigh. “Good lord, is that a yes?” She nodded. “When you make up your mind, and if the answer is ‘yes,’ tell me when you’re ready for me to propose. I’ll get a ring.”

“A very big one.” She sniffled. “Yes. Ten carats at least.”

“Twelve.”

“Anything you say.” James glanced over the land where the cottage had once stood. “We don’t have to live here, you know. If you think you’d be the least bit unhappy, we can buy land at the other end of town.”

Catherine gave the three-acre lot a long look, picturing a beautiful Cape Cod house, a multitude of flowers in the summer, lights on outside evergreens in the winter. “I’d like to live here and raise flower gardens and expand the apple orchard and add peach trees and have lots of cats and dogs.”

“That’s all?”

Catherine frowned as if lost in thought. Finally, she said, “Oh, and I’d like to have at least two kids. Maybe three, sir, if you don’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t think I’d mind at all.” James beamed, then leaned over, gently pushing her long hair away from her face. Just before his lips met hers, he whispered, “Catherine, dreams do come true. I know, because at last I have mine.”