At First Sight - Nicholas Sparks [30]
Why, then, was he so willing to believe his own baby would be a girl? Why was he as positive about it as Lexie? When he imagined himself holding the baby in the future, she was always wrapped in a pink blanket. He sat back in his chair, wondering, and then decided that in fact he wasn’t absolutely positive. Lexie was the one who was sure, not him, and he was merely reflecting her opinion. And the fact that she continually referred to the baby as a little girl only reinforced that.
Instead of dwelling on it further—or trying to write—Jeremy decided to scan his favorite news sites on the Internet, hoping that something might click. Without high-speed access, the progress was slow to the point of making him drowsy, but he pushed on. He visited four sites involving UFOs; the official Web site regarding the latest in haunted houses; and the site put up by James Randi, who like him was devoted to exposing hoaxes and frauds. For years, Randi had a standing offer to pay a million dollars to any psychic who could prove his or her ability under rigorous scientific controls. To date, no one—including those better-known psychics who appeared regularly on television or wrote books—had taken him up on his challenge. Once, in one of his columns, Jeremy had made the same offer (on a much smaller scale, of course) with exactly the same results. People who called themselves psychics were experts in self-promotion, not the paranormal. Jeremy recalled his exposé of Timothy Clausen, a man who claimed to be able to speak to spirits from beyond the grave. It was the last major story he’d worked on before he’d traveled to Boone Creek in search of ghosts and found Lexie instead.
On Randi’s site, there was the usual collection of stories, supposedly magical events peppered with the author’s disbelief, but after a couple of hours, Jeremy logged off, realizing he was no further along with ideas than when he’d started.
Checking his watch, he saw it was almost five, and he wondered whether he should stop by the house to see how the repairs were going. Maybe they’d moved another pile or something, anything to make it appear as if the project could be completed this year. Despite the endless bills, Jeremy was beginning to doubt whether they would ever move in. What once seemed manageable now seemed daunting, and he decided he’d pass on the visit to the house. No reason to make a dismal day even worse.
Instead, he chose to head to the library to see how Lexie was doing. He threw on a clean shirt, ran a brush through his hair, and slapped on some cologne; a few minutes later, he was passing Herbs on his way to the library. The dogwoods and azaleas were starting to look limp and tired, but along the sides of buildings and at the base of trees, tulips and daffodils were beginning to open, their colors even more vivid. The warm southerly breeze made it seem more like early summer than late March, the kind of day that would bring throngs to Central Park.
He wondered whether he should swing by and pick up a bouquet of flowers for Lexie, finally deciding he should. There was only one florist in town, and the store also sold live bait and fishing tackle; despite a sparse selection, he emerged from the store a few minutes later with a spring bouquet he was sure Lexie would love.
He reached the library within minutes but frowned when he realized that Lexie’s car wasn’t in its normal spot. Glancing toward the office window, he noticed her light was off. Thinking that she was at Herbs, he headed back that way, looking for but not seeing her car, then swung past her house, figuring she must have made it an early day. She was probably running an errand or shopping.
He turned the car around and retraced his path through town, cruising slowly. When he spotted Lexie’s car parked near a Dumpster behind the pizza parlor, he slammed on the brakes and pulled his car in beside