CHAPTER 48
Remy stood in the late afternoon sunshine, reading “The Secret Sits”—one of several poems posted along the Robert Frost Trail.
“What do you think he means?” John asked, slipping his hand into Remy’s.
Remy felt the warmth of his skin and felt her heart race. “I think,” she said, trying to focus, “he means that we humans are too busy running in circles and thinking we know everything . . . but if we slowed down long enough to reflect and look inward, we’d have a better chance of understanding ourselves and the world.”
John nodded. “So he’s saying we should slow down, let go of what we think we know, and just let things unfold.”
“Yes,” Remy agreed, daring to look at him.
John searched her eyes. “Do you think that’s what we should do?”
“Hmm?” she murmured, her heart beating out of her chest.
“You know, let go of what we think we know . . . and let things unfold?”
She swallowed. “Is that what you think we should do?”
“I do,” he said, smiling the smile that was stealing her heart.
“If you think so . . .” she said softly.
“Do you think so?” he asked again.
She nodded and he held her face in his hands and softly kissed her.
Remy felt her mind racing like a horse that had just been released from the gate. Oh my, oh my . . . oh my!
John leaned back and searched her eyes again. “What do you think?” he asked.
She smiled. “Oh my!”
“Oh my, too,” he said, his eyes sparkling . . . and then he pulled her close and kissed her again. “I think I’m falling for you, Remy Landon,” he whispered.
“I think I’m falling for you, too, John Sanders,” she murmured, gently pushing away all the memories she’d been clinging to like a lifeline—for a lifetime.
“I know I’m not Jim. . . .” he said softly, as if reading her mind.
“I don’t want you to be Jim,” she whispered.
“We’ll just let things unfold. . . .”
She nodded and he took her hand. “How long is this trail?” he asked.
“It’s as long as it takes,” she said, smiling.
“You’re so right,” he said, chuckling.
They walked across streams, through meadows and forest, stopping to read the other Frost poems posted along the way, and debated their meaning.
“I always thought ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’ was a contemplation of suicide,” John said, “and Frost’s use of the word sleep really means death.”
“I’ve heard that, too,” Remy said, “but I think it’s an awfully dark interpretation. I think the poem is simply about taking the time to enjoy the beauty of the snow in the silent woods before rushing back to the responsibilities of this world.”
“Maybe ... but why, then, does he repeat that last line, ‘... and miles to go before I sleep’?”
“ ‘Miles to go’ simply means he has plenty of life ahead of him.”
“And what about the ‘sleep’ part?”
Remy smiled. “Before he goes to bed, silly,” she said, refusing to believe that her favorite poet hid anything ominous in the lovely poem.
“Ever the optimist,” John teased.
“I try to be,” Remy said with a smile. “Life’s hard enough without being downtrodden all the time.”
“How come your good nature doesn’t rub off on your sister?”
Remy smiled, knowing immediately which sister he meant. “I don’t know,” she said with a sad smile. “Birdie has had a lot of heartache and disappointment in her life.”
“So have you ...”
“I guess we deal with it our own way. It’s true I lost my husband, but I was also blessed with three wonderful children.”
“And Birdie’s been blessed with a wonderful husband her whole life.”
“Birdie wanted children more than anything, and she’s never been able to let go of what happened to Easton. The past haunts her.”
“It’s a shame,” John said. “Life is too short—you only get one wonderful, amazing, precious life....”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Remy said as they reached the trailhead.
They walked back to her car. “What’s next?”
“Hmm ... it’s getting late. Are you hungry?”
“I am a little hungry ... and I’m sort of craving pizza.”
Remy laughed. “Actually, pizza sounds good.”
“Do you want to go back to the reunion?”
Remy shook her head. “No, I’ve had enough. I’m pretty sure it’s the last one I’ll attend.”
“Why’s that?” John asked, turning the key.
“Oh, it was fun to see everyone, but that time in my life and the people I knew then—it’s just not the same.” She searched for the right words. “It’s not that they’re not important. It’s just that they’re not relevant to my life now. A reunion is like traveling back in time for a brief recap, but I think, instead of telling your story over and over to everyone who asks, each person should take a turn at a podium and give a brief update of their life—it would be so much easier.”
“I can just see you standing at a podium,” John teased.
Remy laughed. “Ha! That right there would be a reason to not go!”