Both of them seemed to think about that, trying but finding it impossible to displacefrom their minds. Noah finished his beer, surprised that he had emptied it so quickly.
"I'm going to go start the water. Can I get you anything?"
She shook her head, and Noah went to the kitchen and put the crabs in the steamerand the bread in the oven. He found some flour and cornstarch for the vegetables,coated them, and put some grease into the frying pan. After turning the heat onlow, he set a timer and pulled another beer from the icebox before heading back tothe porch. And while he was doing those things, he thought about Allie and the lovethat was missing from both their lives.
Allie, too, was thinking. About Noah, about herself, about a lot of things. For amoment she wished she weren't engaged but then quickly cursed herself. It wasn'tNoah she loved; she loved what they once had been. Besides, it was normal to feelthis way. Her first real love, the only man she'd ever been with‐‐how could she expectto forget him?
Yet was it normal for her insides to twitch whenever he came near? Was it normalto confess things she could never tell anyone else? Was it normal to come here threeweeks from her wedding day?
"No, it's not," she finally whispered to herself as she looked to the evening sky.
"There's nothing normal about any of this."
Noah came out at that moment and she smiled at him, glad he'd come back so shedidn't have to think about it anymore. "It's going to take a few minutes," he said ashe sat back down.
"That's fine. I'm not that hungry yet."
He looked at her then, and she saw the softness in his eyes. "I'mglad you came, Allie," he said.
"Me too. I almost didn't, though."
"Why did you come?"
I was compelled, she wanted to say, but didn't.
"Just to see you, to find out what you've been up to. To see how you are."
He wondered if that was all but didn't question further. Instead he changed thesubject.
"By the way, I've been meaning to ask, do you still paint?"
She shook her head. "Not anymore."
He was stunned. "Why not? You have so much talent."
"I don't know "
"Sure you do. You stopped for a reason."He was right. She'd had a reason."It's a longstory."
"I've got all night," he answered.
"Did you really think I was talented?" she asked quietly.
"C'mon," he said, reaching for her hand, "I want to show you something."
She got up and followed him through the door to the living room. He stopped in frontof the fireplace and pointed to the painting that hung above the mantel. She gasped,surprised she hadn't noticed it earlier, more surprised it was here at all. "You keptit?"
"Of course I kept it. It's wonderful."
She gave him a skeptical look, and he explained.
"It makes me feel alive when I look at it. Sometimes I have to get up and touch it. It'sjust so real‐‐the shapes, the shadows, the colors. I even dream about it sometimes.
It's incredible, Allie‐‐I can stare at it for hours."
"You're serious," she said, shocked. "As serious as I've ever been." She didn't sayanything.
"You mean to tell me no one has ever told you that before?"
"My professor did," she finally said, "but I guess I didn't believe him." Heknew there was more. Allie looked away before continuing.
"I've been drawing and painting since I was a child. I guess that once I got a little older,I began to think I was good at it. I enjoyed it, too. I remember working on this paintingthat summer, adding to it every day, changing it as our relationship changed. I don'teven remember how it started or what I wanted it to be, but somehow it evolvedinto this.
"I remember being unable to stop painting after I went home that summer. I think itwas my way of avoiding the pain I was going through. Anyway, I ended up majoringin art in college because it was something I had to do; I remember spending hours inthe studio all by myself and enjoying every minute. I loved the freedom I felt when Icreated, the way it made me feel inside to make something beautiful. Just before Igraduated, my professor, who happened to also be the critic for the paper, told me Ihad a lot of talent. He told me I should try my luck as an artist. But I didn't listen tohim."
She stopped there, gathering her thoughts. "My parents didn't think it wasproper for someone like me to paint for a living. I just stopped after a while. Ihaven't touched a brush in years." She stared at the painting.
"Do you think you'll ever paint again?"
"I'm not sure if I can anymore. It's been a long time."
"You can still do it, Allie. I know you can. You have a talent that comes from insideyou, from your heart, not from your fingers. What you have can't ever go away. It'swhat other people only dream about. You're an artist, Allie."
The words were spoken with such sincerity that she knew he wasn't saying it just tobe nice. He truly believed in her ability, and for some reason that meant more to herthan she expected. But something else happened then, something even morepowerful.
Why it happened, she never knew, but this was when the chasm began to close forAllie, the chasm she had erected in her life to separate the pain from the pleasure.
And she suspected then, maybe not consciously, that there was more to this thaneven she cared to admit. But at that moment she still wasn't completely aware of it,and she turned to face him. She reached over and touched his hand, hesitantly,gently, amazed that after all these years he'd somehow known exactly what she'dneeded to hear. When their eyes locked, she once again realized how special he was.
