Chapter 15 #2
She focused instead on trying to figure out her mission and how everything fit together.
But she wasn’t focused on this at the moment.
She was simply enjoying the snowflakes falling on her eyelashes, walking past the beautiful Victorian houses, and noticing how the decorations had changed from Thanksgiving to Christmas.
Tomorrow was Tuesday, December 1st, and she couldn’t help but think of kids getting more and more excited with each passing day.
Christmas lights on bushes or lampposts were noticeably absent because of blackout restrictions, but many houses had a lantern with a candle in their front window that matched the lanterns from the town’s Christmas tree lighting.
She passed a man walking his Golden Retriever.
He greeted her by name. She was embarrassed that she didn’t know him, but delighted to be in a place where people were starting to recognize her, even if it was under the guise of a journalist for a famous travel magazine.
Even though she didn’t start out heading for the covered bridge, by 8:12, that’s where her feet took her.
She decided she wanted to try an experiment.
She knew that Claude Bolton would appear soon, and she wanted to stand directly in front of the window which he always jumped through to see what would happen.
Would he acknowledge her? Push her aside?
Use the window on the other side of the bridge?
What’s he gonna do? She wondered. Kill me?
For all I know, I could be dead already.
As her footsteps echoed on the wooden planks, she thought about the war.
With everything she had to adjust to, and her purpose in Sparkledove still unclear, the world being at war seemed like almost an afterthought.
Yet, it was everywhere around her: in war bond posters hanging in shop windows, in food shortages at the grocery store, in blackout restrictions and the town’s Christmas tree and covered bridge lights being illuminated only from 6:00 to 10:00 p.m.
Within a minute of her coming to the middle of the bridge and stopping to stare out of its glassless viewing window at the beautiful snowy night, she looked left and saw Claude Bolton walk onto the bridge.
He wore the same clothes he always did, had the same forlorn look, and walked straight toward the window and Goldie without giving her any recognition.
“Ay, Claude,” she called. “How’s it goin’?”
She started walking toward him. “That was probably a dumb thing to say, huh? I mean, I know how it’s goin’. And where you’re goin’. Sorry, man. But I need to talk to ya. So, if you could delay your daily self-destruction for just one minute—”
She extended her hands, intending to stop him with a hand on each shoulder.
But it didn’t happen. Bolton passed right through Goldie’s body as if he were smoke.
When he did, a sharp, chilling pain shot through her head like a Slurpee brain freeze.
It was so overwhelming, she lost her balance and fell to her knees.
But Claude Bolton just kept on walking, then did what he did every night.
He stopped at the window, looked out at the view, looked down at the water, and after a few moments, raised a foot and stepped onto the windowsill.
Goldie closed her eyes, put her gloved hands on the sides of her head, and waited for the rush of cold pain to subside, which it did in another thirty seconds.
During this time, she was unaware of the glare of headlights coming down Bridge Street toward her.
She muttered “Shit!” as a car door opened and the silhouette of someone came running toward her.
“Goldie! Are you alright?”
She looked up to see Peter Banyan. His Ford station wagon with an open driver’s door was behind him at the entrance of the bridge.
“Ay, Peter,” she smiled weakly.
“What happened?” he asked. He put a hand on each of her arms and helped her to her feet. “Are you ill?”
“No. J-just tripped over my own two big, dumb feet,” she fibbed. “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah… what’re you doin’ here?”
“I went by the hotel to ask about your day and see if you wanted some dessert and coffee. Maddie said she’d seen you leave. So, I figured maybe you were out walking.”
“And you came here, huh?”
“Well, the bridge is a likely destination.”
“Yeah. Sure,” she said, rubbing her forehead.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, glancing at the empty viewing window where Claude Bolton had jumped. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.”
“C’mon,” he urged. “Let’s get you to my car. Does dessert sound good?”
“I think I’m gonna take a rain check,” she said, going with him toward his station wagon. “I’m okay, but I got up real early and am dead tired.”
“Fair enough. Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Ever since we met, you may’ve noticed that I’ve been spending some time with you.”
“Yeah. What about that?” she asked, a little teasingly.
“For the record, my father highly disapproves of me chasing after you,” he said with a certain twinkle in his eye. “He’s afraid you’ll perceive my attention as just a ploy so you’ll write a nice article about the town.”
“Oh. Like him flyin’ me out here and puttin’ me up wasn’t that?” she asked.
“He says that’s different. That’s a business arrangement, but me spending time with you—eating with you, walking with you—that’s personal.”
“Well, it does beg the question: Why are ya doin’ it?”
Now at his car, he opened and held the door for her while she climbed inside. After he closed it, he rounded the vehicle and slid in behind the wheel.
“I don’t know,” he said, shutting his door. “I mean, I like you. And I know we come from different places and live separate lives. I know your stay here is only temporary. But—I don’t know—there’s something different about you. It—it’s almost otherworldly.”
“Otherworldly?” she asked, taking off her stocking cap and shaking out her hair a bit.
“Maybe that’s the wrong word for it,” he conceded, his hazel eyes searching. “Unexpected. Special.” He looked at her tousled but attractive brown hair. “I can honestly say, I’ve never met another woman like you.”
“Timeless,” she offered, jokingly.
“Yes. That’s a good description for it. You’re timeless.”
He reached over, cupped her face with his left hand, then leaned over and kissed her. She suspected this might happen sooner or later, and if it did, it would complicate things. But she still let it happen. And she still liked it.