“Thursday night,” I said. “It seems like it’ll be the only chance we get. She’s gone tonight, tomorrow she’ll probably want to see you, and on Friday, Joseph and Leslie will be here. Of course, Saturday’s out for obvious reasons.” I paused. “I just hope she likes it.”

He smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Wilson. You couldn’t have picked a better gift if you had all the money in the world.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am. And I can’t imagine a better start to the weekend.”

The sincerity in his voice warmed me, and I was touched that he seemed so fond of me, despite how different we were.

“You’re the one who gave me the idea,” I reminded him.

Noah shook his head. “No,” he said, “it was all you. Gifts of the heart can’t be claimed by anyone except the giver.” He patted his chest to emphasize the point. “Allie would love what you’ve done,” he remarked. “She was always a softie when it came to things like this.”

I folded my hands in my lap. “I wish she could be there this weekend.”

Noah glanced at the stack of letters. I knew he was imagining Allie, and for a brief moment, he looked strangely younger.

“So do I,” he said.

Heat seemed to scald the soles of my feet as I walked through the parking lot. In the distance, buildings looked as if they were made of liquid, and I could feel my shirt tacking itself to my back.

Once in the car, I headed for the winding country roads that were as familiar as the streets of my own neighborhood. There was an austere beauty to the coastal lowlands, and I wove past farms and tobacco barns that looked almost abandoned. Strands of loblolly pines separated one farm from the next, and I caught sight of a tractor moving in the distance, a cloud of dirt and dust rising behind it.

From certain points in the road, it was possible to see the Trent River, the slow waters rippling in the sunlight. Oaks and cypress trees lined the banks, their white trunks and knotted roots casting gnarled shadows. Spanish moss hung from the branches, and as the farms gradually gave way to forest, I imagined that the sprawling trees I saw from behind my windshield were the same trees that both Union and Confederate soldiers had seen when they marched through the area.

In the distance, I saw a tin roof reflecting the sun; next came the house itself; and a few moments later I was at Noah’s.

As I surveyed the house from the tree-lined drive, I thought it looked abandoned. Off to the side was the faded red barn where Noah stored lumber and equipment; numerous holes now dotted the sides, and the tin roof was caked with rust. His workshop, where he had spent most of his hours during the day, was directly behind the house. The swinging doors hung crookedly, and the windows were coated with dirt. Just beyond that was the rose garden that had become as overgrown as the banks along the river. The caretaker, I noticed, hadn’t mowed recently, and the once grassy lawn resembled a wild meadow.

I parked next to the house, pausing for a moment to study it. Finally, I fished the key from my pocket, and after unlocking the door, I pushed it open. Sunlight immediately crossed the floor.

With the windows boarded, it was otherwise dark, and I made a note to turn on the generator before I left. After my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could make out the features of the house. Directly in front of me were the stairs that led to the bedrooms; on my left was a long, wide family room that stretched from the front of the house to the back porch. It was here, I thought, that we would put the tables for the reception, for the room could easily accommodate everyone.

The house smelled of dust, and I could see traces of it on the sheets that draped the furniture. I knew I’d have to remind the movers that each piece was an antique dating from the original construction of the house. The fireplace was inlaid with hand-painted ceramic tile; I remembered Noah telling me that when he’d replaced the ones that had cracked, he’d been relieved to discover that the original manufacturer was still in business. In the corner was a piano—also covered by a sheet—that had been played not only by Noah’s children, but by the grandchildren as well.

On either side of the fireplace were three windows. I tried to imagine what the room would look like when it was ready, but standing in the darkened house, I couldn’t. Though I had pictured how I wanted it to look—and even described my ideas to Jane—being inside the house evoked memories that made changing its appearance seem impossible.

How many evenings had Jane and I spent here with Noah and Allie? Too many to count, and if I concentrated, I could almost hear the sounds of laughter and the rise and fall of easy conversation.

I’d come here, I suppose, because the events of the morning had only deepened my nagging sense of nostalgia and longing. Even now, I could feel the softness of Jane’s lips against my own and taste the lipstick she’d been wearing. Were things really changing between us? I desperately wanted to think so, but I wondered whether I was simply projecting my own feelings onto Jane. All I knew for certain was that for the first time in a long time, there was a moment, just a moment, when Jane seemed as happy with me as I was with her.

Chapter Twelve

The rest of the day was spent on the phone in my den. I spoke to the cleaning company that worked in our home, and we finalized arrangements to have Noah’s house cleaned on Thursday; I spoke to the man who pressure-washed our deck, and he would be there around noon to brighten the grand home. An electrician was coming to make sure that the generator, the outlets inside the house, and the floodlights in the rose garden were still in working order. I called the company that had repainted our law offices last year, and they promised to send a crew to begin freshening the walls inside, as well as the fence that surrounded the rose garden. A rental company would provide tents and tables, chairs for the ceremony, linens, glasses, and silverware, and all would be delivered on Thursday morning. A few employees of the restaurant would be there later to set things up, well in advance of the event on Saturday. Nathan Little was looking forward to starting his project, and when I called he informed me that the plants I’d ordered earlier that week from the nursery were already loaded on his truck. He also agreed to have his employees cart the excess furniture from the home. Finally, I made the necessary music arrangements for both the wedding and the reception; the piano would be tuned on Thursday.

The arrangements to have everything accomplished quickly weren’t as difficult as one might imagine. Not only was I acquainted with most of the people I called, but it was something I had done once before. In many ways, this burst of frenzied activity was like the work we’d done on the first home Jane and I had purchased after we got married. An old row house that had fallen on hard times, it needed a thorough remodeling job . . . which was why we’d been able to afford it. We did much of the initial gutting ourselves but soon reached the point where the skills of carpenters, plumbers, and electricians were needed.