the middle of the night?
A thousand times heâd wondered why she had left town. It wasnât because heâd been flirting with Dana. Van wasnât that volatile. She couldnât afford to be.
Heâd seen her come into Mikeâs and saw her expression before she let him have it. And before Mike escorted her to the door with the warning to stay out. She was only eighteen.
Joe should have gone after her. But the guys were all ribbing him and he was embarrassed. But even as Vanâs features dimmed in his memory, her expression remained. Heâd thought she was pissed, but he knew now that it was hurt.
Heâd hurt his best friend. The girl he loved.
After a few days he gave in. Tried calling her, but the phone had been turned off. He asked people about her. She was around, but steering clear of him. Heâd planned to be patient, wait for her to come around. Explain to her that it didnât mean anything.
Several weeks passed, but she stayed away. No one knew where she was, or at least they werenât telling him. Desperate, he even went to her house. But her father just yelled at him and said she was gone and good riddance. Joe could have killed him right there. Van had spent every day after school and summer vacation working to make money to keep a roof over their heads. And her father was glad she was gone.
Joe never saw her again. No one had. She left town without telling anyone. And never came back. He remembered it like it was yesterday.
Heâd meant to marry her and take her away from her father andall the stuff that made her unhappy, but he had a scholarship to study dairy management and heâd let it slide. He thought he had plenty of time.
He wasnât ready to get hitched then. He thought if she could just hold on a little longer. But . . .
There was speculation that sheâd died. An accident or by her own hand, but Joe didnât believe it. Van was tough. Had to be after what sheâd been through. But not hard like Dana. Van had managed to keep her compassion and her ability to love intact. She was sensitive and artistic and thought she might like to go to art school someday. They made plans. But that all ended when she disappeared.
Everyone blamed him and Dana, and it hadnât mattered how much he said nothing happened; Dana was close behind him implying that it had.
The tattoo turned to a drum. At least Van had made a life for herself. He followed her career on the Internet. But he hadnât once tried to contact her. He didnât know why. Maybe it was fear that sheâd reject him or that sheâd totally forgotten him, or maybe he just didnât want his memory of how special she was to be tarnished by reality.
And now he was sitting in a parked truck like a stalker.
He reached for the keys. Heâd go home. Ignore the diggers. Try to sleep.
Dorieâs front door opened. At first Joe thought he was imagining things. Or that heâd stumbled on a burglar.
But the dark figure came down the steps, paused at the sidewalk, then turned and walked toward the beach.
And he knew who it was. She was a mere silhouette; there was nothing discernible except the way she walked. And he knew just as if it were broad daylight and she was staring him in the face.
He grabbed the keys and opened the truck door. Was careful to close it quietly. Because he was really crazy.
Really crazy and pitiful, he thought as he started after her, moving slow, hugging the shadows. If a patrol car passed by, heâd be spending the night in jail. âCause he looked guilty as hell.
He followed her for the block and a half to the boardwalk. Stood back when she crossed the street. It was pretty quiet. A few stragglers walked by, but the Blue Crab had closed earlier, and the serious drinkers had moved on to the bars up the beach or in town.
He didnât cross the street but kept parallel to her movements. She was headed toward the Blue Crab, but she walked past