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CHAPTER TWO
     
    Hours later, when the sky was black with only
a quarter-moon to guide his path, when even the birds were quiet,
George was still pacing up and down the beach. For hours, he’d
walked a mile or so in one direction before turning back and doing
the same thing in the other direction. He hadn’t wanted to stray
too far from the spot he’d arrived at and that Sarah had departed
from. His stomach was empty, his ribs still hurt, and his soul
ached with worry.
    Finally, exhausted, he lay down on the cold
sand, feeling more weary than he’d ever felt, even counting those
terrible days following Hannah’s death. He closed his eyes and
later, when he woke, the soft gray of early morning washed across
the still-empty stretch of beach. The sun was well over the
horizon, although not yet warm with heat. He closed his eyes and
continued to lay on his back, unwilling to let go of his dreams, of
the peace the memories had brought him.
    He’d dreamed of John and Sarah, of all the
people he’d left behind. He’d dreamed of his job as sheriff of
Bluemont, North Dakota. And of Hannah and the baby she’d
carried.
    He realized with a start that the last person
he’d dreamed about had been Melody. She’d gotten herself into
trouble and now had a babe on the way. In his time, there were few
choices for a woman on her own with a child. There’d be little
money and even less acceptance.
    He hated the thought of any woman having to
struggle along with no man to help her. It wasn’t right.
    “George. Excuse me, George. Mr. Tyler.”
    His eyes flew open and he lifted his head.
Melody Song, her arm in the air, waving to him, was climbing down
the steep steps at the edge of the beach.
    He sat up. For a minute, he thought maybe he
was still dreaming. She was practically upon him before he grabbed
hold of his senses. He scrambled to his feet, feeling like a clumsy
fool.
    She’d changed her clothes. She had on a
bright yellow blouse which was snug at the top but loose enough
lower down to provide space for her growing baby. She had white
trousers that ended at least six inches above her ankles and she
wore some crazy kind of shoes that showed her toes.
    The woman had nice feet. Small and smooth,
with toenails painted pink.
    The early morning breeze blew her hair across
her face and she pushed it out of her face. “Good morning,” she
said.
    Christ. She was real. He’d imagined that her
hair was dark. But it was much lighter. It was the color of winter
wheat, a rich honey, and it fell in thick waves past her shoulders.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, and got embarrassed when his
voice squeaked like that of a young boy’s. It didn’t surprise him
though. Melody Song, with her smooth skin, her shiny hair, and her
full breasts, made him feel as inept as a twelve-year-old.
    “I don’t know,” she said, her voice subdued.
“I got up early this morning knowing I needed to be on the road if
I was going to make my grandmother’s house by lunch. I was driving
by, had almost passed the Fayetteville exit, and all of a sudden, I
just knew I had to check. I had to know if you were still
here.”
    “I am,” he said, trying hard not to let her
hear the desperation he felt.
    “Do you know that I almost caused a freakin’
wreck? I crossed two lanes of traffic without even looking.” She
waved an impatient hand toward him, like it was somehow his fault.
“I never drive crazy. I’m a very careful driver,” she added, like
she might be trying to convince herself.
    He couldn’t stop looking at her hair. “You
look different,” he said. “Your hair.”
    “Took me a half hour in the shower last night
to get it clean. Between the saltwater and the french-fry grease
from work, it had taken a beating.”
    French-fry grease? From work? None of what
she said made any sense. She’d said she lost her job at the school.
“Where do you work?”
    “I have a friend who owns a little
restaurant, sort of upscale