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Noah was up before the sun and dressed quickly, same jeans as last night, undershirt, clean flannel shirt, blue jacket, and boots. He brushed his teeth before going downstairs, drank a quick glass of milk, and grabbed two biscuits on the way out the door. After Clem greeted him with a couple of sloppy licks, he walked to the dock where his kayak was stored. He liked to let the river work its magic, loosening up his muscles, warming his body, clearing his mind. The old kayak, well used and river stained, hung on two rusty hooks attached to his dock just above the waterline to keep off the barnacles. He lifted it free from the hooks and set it at his feet, inspected it quickly, then took it to the bank. In a couple of seasoned moves long since mastered by habit, he had it in the water working its way upstream with himself as the pilot and engine. The air was cool on his skin, almost crisp, and the sky was a haze of different colors: black directly above him like a mountain peak, then blues of infinite range, becoming lighter until it met the horizon, where gray took its place. He took a few deep breaths, smelling pine trees and brackish water, and began to reflect. This had been part of what hed missed most when he had lived up north. Because of the long hours at work, there had been little time to spend on the water. Camping, hiking, paddling on rivers, dating, working something had had to go. For the most part hed been able to explore New Jerseys countryside on foot whenever hed had extra time, but in fourteen years he hadnt canoed or kayaked once. It had been one of the first things hed done when he returned. Theres something special, almost mystical, about spending dawn on the water, he thought to himself, and he did it almost every day now. Sunny and clear or cold and bitter, it never mattered as he paddled in rhythm to music in his head, working above water the color of iron. He saw a family of turtles resting on a partially submerged log and watched as a heron broke for flight, skimming just above the water before vanishing into the silver twilight that preceded sunrise. He paddled out to the middle of the creek, where he watched the orange glow begin to stretch across the water. He stopped paddling hard, giving just enough effort to keep him in place, staring until light began to break through the trees. He always liked to pause at daybreak—there was a moment when the view was spectacular, as if the world were being born again. Afterward he began to paddle hard, working off the tension, preparing for the day. While he did that, questions danced in his mind like water drops in a frying pan. He dered about Lon and what type of man he was, dered about their relationship. Most of all, though, he dered about Allie and why she had come. By the time he reached home, he felt renewed. Checking his watch, he was surprised to find that it had taken two hours. Time always played tricks out there, though, and hed stopped questioning it months ago. He hung the kayak to dry, stretched for a couple of minutes, and went to the shed where he stored his canoe. He carried it to the bank, leaving it a few feet from the water, and as he turned toward the house, he noted that his legs were still a little stiff. The morning haze hadnt burned off yet, and he knew the stiffness in his legs usually predicted rain. He looked to the western sky and saw storm clouds, thick and heavy, far off but definitely present. The ds werent blog hard, but they were bringing the clouds closer. From the looks of them, he didnt want to be outside when they got here. Damn. How much time did he have A few hours, maybe more. Maybe less. He showered, put on new jeans, a red shirt, and black cow boots, brushed his hair, and went downstairs to the kitchen. He did the dishes from the night before, picked up a little around the house, made himself some coffee, and went to the porch. The sky was darker now, and he checked the barometer. Steady, but it would start dropping soon. The western sky promised that.




Hed learned long ago to never underestimate the weather, and he dered if it was a good idea to go out. The rain he could deal with; lightning was a different story. Especially if he was on the water. A canoe was no place to be when electricity sparked in humid air. He finished his coffee, putting off the decision until later. He went to the toolshed and found his ax. After checking the blade by pressing his thumb to it, he sharpened it with a whetstone until it was ready. A dull ax is more dangerous than a sharp one, his daddy used to say.

He spent the next twenty minutes splitting and stacking logs. He did it easily, his strokes efficient, and didnt break a sweat. He set a few logs off to the side for later and brought them inside when he was finished, putting them by the fireplace. He looked at Allies painting again and reached out to touch it, bringing back the feelings of disbelief at seeing her again. God, what was it about her that made him feel this way Even after all these years What sort of power did she have over him He finally turned away, shaking his head, and went back to the porch. He checked the barometer again. It hadnt changed. Then he looked at his watch.

She spent the morning walking around downtown. The Depression had taken its toll here, but she could see the signs of prosperity beginning to work their way back. The Masonic theater, the oldest active theater in the country, looked a little more run-down but was still operating with a couple of recent movies. Fort Totten Park looked exactly the same as it had fourteen years ago, and she assumed the s who played on the sgs after school looked the same as well. She smiled at the memory then, thinking back to when things were simpler. Or at least had seemed to be.

Now, it seemed, nothing was simple. It seemed so improbable, everything falling into place as it had, and she dered what she would have been doing now, had she never seen the article in the paper. It wasnt very difficult to imagine, because her routines seldom changed. It was Wednesday, which meant bridge at the country club, then on to the Junior Womens League, where they would probably be arranging another fund-raiser for the private school or hospital. After that, a visit with her mother, then home to get ready for dinner with Lon, because he made it a point to leave work by seven. It was the one night a week she saw him regularly.

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Kayaks and Forgotten Dreams Allie should be here soon. Allie had finished her bath and was already dressed. Earlier shed opened the dow to check the temperature. It wasnt cold outside, and shed decided on a cream-colored spring dress with long sleeves and a high neck. It was soft and comfortable, maybe a little snug, but it looked good, and she had selected some white sandals that matched.

She suppressed a feeling of sadness about that, hoping that one day he would change. He had often promised to and usually followed through for a few weeks before drifting back to the same schedule. I cant tonight, honey, he would always explain. Im sorry, but I cant. Let me make it up to you later. She didnt like to argue with him about it, mostly because she knew he was telling the truth. Trial work was demanding, both beforehand and during, yet she couldnt help dering sometimes why he had spent so much time courting her if he didnt want to spend the time with her now. She passed an art gallery, almost walked by it in her preoccupation, then turned and went back. She paused at the door for a second, surprised at how long it had been since shed been in one. At least three years, maybe longer. Why had she avoided it

She went inside—it had opened with the rest of the shops on Front Street—and browsed among the paintings. Many of the artists were local, and there was a strong sea flavor to their works. Lots of ocean scenes, sandy beaches, pelicans, old sailing ships, tug-boats, piers, and seagulls. But most of all, waves. Waves of every shape, size, and color imaginable, and after a while they all looked alike. The artists were either uninspired or lazy, she thought.

On one wall though, there were a few paintings that more suited her tastes. All were by an artist shed never heard of, Elayn, and most appeared to have been inspired by the architecture of the Greek islands. In the painting she liked the best, she noted the artist had purposely exaggerated the scene with smaller-than-life figures, wide lines, and heavy sweeps of color, as if not completely focused. Yet the colors were vivid and swirling, drag the eye in, almost directing what it should see next. It was dynamic, dramatic. The more she thought about it, the more she liked it, and she considered buying it before she realized that she liked it because it reminded her of her own work. She examined it more closely and thought to herself that maybe Noah was right. Maybe she should start painting again.