Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [74]
Though all about her was now back to normal, an oppressive air of sorrow lingered; it pushed against her mind to where a tear came to her eye. She wasn’t sure why seeing a beautiful memory like the one she had just experienced should leave her so profoundly shaken. The couple’s love was so clear, so beautiful. Laura and Tommy were extraordinary people. Though these flashbacks left her rattled, she felt Laura was giving her a gift. That gift should bring joy, happiness. Instead, she was overcome with a poignant, heartbreaking sadness.
Silent tears streaming down her face, she smiled at Jago, trying desperately to hang on. Just hang on. “I wish I had known them.”
Poor man, he stared at her, totally confused, fearful. “Who?”
“You’re now sorry you went to bed with me, eh, Jago? You’re scared I’m crazy as a loon.” She reached up and touched his beautiful face, cupped his cheek. “I’m not sure I can explain, since I don’t really understand myself.” Dropping her hand, she walked in a small circle. “This used to be a skate rink. They came here on summer nights. Played music. Mostly the girls skated. The guys just watched them in their tight pedal pushers. They decorated with strands of Christmas lights, made it festive. Others would park their cars out here, and would sit on the hoods observing, too. The nights would flicker, alive with lightning bugs, turning everything magical. It was a gentle time. A happy time.”
As she talked the images grew so strong, the music filtered around her. “‘I wonder what went wrong, with our love, a love that was so strong,’”—she sang the lyrics to the tune she could hear.
“Del Shannon’s ‘Runaway,’” Jago identified.
Asha’s head whipped back to him, almost hopeful. “You hear it?”
If he could hear it, too, maybe she wasn’t going insane. She gave him credit. He listened for a minute, but then shook his head no.
“You’re hearing Del Shannon?” he asked solemnly.
She chuckled, trying to make light of the bizarre situation. “Actually, no. You’ll think I’m totally nuts. I’m now hearing ‘Alley Oop.’”
“‘Alley Oop’?” Jago huffed a small laugh, but concern filled his dark green eyes. “Sorry, I missed that one.”
“I’m sure it’s on the jukebox at The Windmill. I’ll play it for you when we get back.” She smiled, fighting the tears. Her tone sobered. “I’m not crazy, Jago.”
“You just go around hearing ‘Alley Oop’?” He shoved his hands in his back pockets and looked at her, guarded. “I read once about a guy, his tooth was turning his mouth into a radio. Somehow, he was receiving music through his filling. Maybe you need to have your fillings checked.”
She shrugged. Walking to the rail, she put her hands on it and gazed out at the abandoned property. “It might account for the music. Only it doesn’t cover Tommy and Laura.”
“Tommy and Laura?” he echoed, his disbelief rising. “The lovers from that song on the demented Wurlitzer?”
“Yeah, ‘Tell Laura I Love Her’ by Ray Peterson. It was very popular in the early ’60s.”
“Maybe you’re fixing on that song—for some reason?”
“Tommy Grant and Laura Valmont. They used to come here. They were very much in love.”
“Used to? Were?” he challenged.
A flock of birds were suddenly flushed from the stand of trees, the crows’ caws filling the late afternoon sky. Jago took her elbow. “Come on, we can figure out Tommy and Laura later. We need to get out of here. Now. The sun is already starting to go down and I don’t want to be out on the bike after dark. Do you know anyone with a black pickup truck? A Ford. Not a new one.”
“Around here? Half the farmers, most likely. There are some trucks that are from 1940s still in use.”
“I think we were being followed.”
“That nut in the truck?”
“Yeah. This morning I noticed a black