Behind the Smile

10

Dusk fell, and those who had lingered around hoping for something more finally lost interest and left for home.

In the excitement of the evening, he had milled about unnoticed.

Cupping his weathered hand around the soft orange glow of the cigarette, he leaned against the rough bark of the trunk and watched as Ridge's car drove away.

The years had brought changes. Gone forever was the girl of his time-frozen memory; but it was the same one.

He was certain.

***

Even as a boy, he loved the lake at night. Deep into its darkness, he would paddle his canoe, throwing out the line as snowflakes silently fell on a glassy surface of onyx or as fat bullfrogs burped their ripened bellows to the cadence of the lantern-like flashes of summer fireflies.

It was as a boy that he had paddled to this same cove, soaking up the sights and sounds of summer's weekend parties - naked white lights strung across the dock, cloth-checkered tables scattered about the lawn, sleeveless dresses and short-sleeved shirts, choppy bits of phonograph recordings floating across the water - often followed by the metallic shrill of laughing ladies slightly tipsy.

He could not explain it, but he had known that she was back, and for many nights afterward, he had fished her cove, always sure to stay well within the cover of the tree-lined shore. If she had looked out onto the water, she would not have seen him, so completely was he woven into the night's shadowed tapestry.

He watched her walk back into the cottage, finished his cigarette, and carefully stamped out the smoldering butt with his shoe. He walked off into the blackness.

He was patient. 

He could wait.