* * *
Neely passed the house three times before he was brave enough to stop.There was a rental car in the driveway. Cameron had returned. Long after dinner, he knocked on the door, almost as nervous as the first time he'd done so. Then, as a fifteen-year-old with a new driver's permit, his parents' car, twenty bucks in his pocket, the peach fuzz scraped off his face, he had arrived to take Cameron on their first real date.
A hundred years ago.
Mrs. Lane opened the door, same as always, but this time she did not recognizeNeely . 'Good evening,' she said softly. She was still beautiful, polite, refusing to age.
'Mrs. Lane, it's me, Neely Crenshaw.'
As the words came out, she recognized him. 'Why, yes,Neely , how are you?'
He figured his name had been mud in the house for solong, he wasn't sure how he'd be received. But the Lanes were gracious people, slightly more educated and affluent than most in Messina. If they held a grudge, and he was certain one was being held, they wouldn't show it. Not the parents anyway.
'I'm fine,' he said.
'Would you come in?' she said, opening the door. It was a halfhearted gesture.
'Sure, thanks.' In the foyer, he looked around and said, 'Still a beautiful home, Mrs. Lane.'
'Thank you. Could I get you some tea?'
'No, thanks.Actually, I'm looking for Cameron. Is she here?'
'She is.'
'I'd like to say hello.'
'I'm very sorry about Coach Rake. I know he meant everything to you boys.'
'Yes ma'am.' He was glancing around, listening for voices in the back of the house.
'I'll find Cameron,' she said and disappeared. Neely waited, and waited, and finally turned to the large oval window in the front door and watched the dark street.
There was a footstep behind him, then a familiar voice. 'HelloNeely ,' Cameron said. He turned and they stared at each other. Words failed him for the moment, so he shrugged and finally blurted, 'I was just driving by, thought I'd say hello. It's been a long time.'
'It has.'
The gravity of his mistake hit hard.
She was much prettier than in high school. Her thick auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her dark blue eyes were adorned with chic designer frames. She wore a bulky cotton sweater and tight faded jeans that declared that this was a lady who stayed in shape. 'You look great,' he said as he admired her.
'You too.'
'Can we talk?'
'About what?'
'Life, love, football.There's a good chance we'll never see each other again, and I have something to say.'
She opened the door. They walked across the wide porch and sat on the front steps. She was careful to leave a large gap between them. Five minutes passed in silence.
'I saw Nat,' he said. 'He told me you're living in Chicago, happily married with two little girls.'
