Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [88]
What’s His Name had romped in the sand while they fixed lunch, and then he’d eaten his share of the steak before passing out on the edge of the blanket. Jago reached over and ruffled his fur, but the silly thing didn’t move. “Guess I’ll have to get him a kitty life jacket if he wants to keep riding in the boat. They do make them.”
“Oh, he’ll love that . . . not!” Asha laughed, taking his hand and rising. “Come on. There’s just enough time to go see the lock before we have to leave.”
Netta reached for another marshmallow. “You sugarplums run along and go see the dam. I’m staying here and sticking my tootsies in the sand. I’m as close as I want to be to that scary thing.”
Asha suddenly felt strange, that odd time slippage pushing in on her thoughts again. She now recalled a fragment of Laura Valmont’s memory of coming to the beach with Tommy for a group cookout, how they’d shared their first kiss under the old bell tower. The image of Laura—so pretty, in bright pink pedal pushers and a white cotton blouse—seemed so vivid, and for an instant the vision of Tommy was nearly as sharp as Jago. The two images blended and separated within her mind, and she saw how much Tommy’s eyes were like Jago’s. His were darker, but both pairs were very green and held the same incisive intelligence.
Auld souls. Jago had said that to her in The Windmill as they slow-danced to Dionne Warwick.
Holding hands, they climbed the path up the small hill to what once had been picnic grounds near the lockmaster’s house. Over to one side there was still a dilapidated table. The falls were even more deafening up here. Asha looked down on the flattened area of concrete, which ran the length of the immense structure. Once it had been solid: now it was breaking into sections, cracking badly. The mortar wasn’t even gray any longer, but a dirty brown from the last two floods that had gotten up over the whole area. A notice painted on the concrete warning to stay off the complex, no trespassing, was now faded and mostly covered in silt. She pondered what the state would do, when and if the dam gave way. Lexington and the surrounding towns drew millions of gallons of water from the river. It didn’t take an engineer to see that the locks really needed replacing. The past summer already saw water rationing hitting the larger towns. What if the locks weren’t repaired or replaced? Would another big flood wash away the weir? Endless questions arose as she stood with Jago watching the water churn.
Jago gave her a contemplative smile as he stared at the concrete structure. “I have to admit Netta is right. It’s crumbling and not very attractive.” He almost had to yell to be heard over the falls. “Yet there’s something unique, special about this place.”
Asha nodded. “I’m glad you like it. I always have. I don’t come often, but I have pleasant childhood memories of my brothers and sisters, my parents, back before their divorce.”
The falls kicked up a thick spray, the breeze picking up the moisture and swirling it about them. Droplets clung to Jago’s black curls. In a brilliant shard of time, the sun crested just over the tree line of the ridge, refracting through the mist to create a rainbow to arch just behind him. She didn’t need that bit of Elfin magic to know how precious Jago was to her. She was glad of the mist for it hid the tears that came to her eyes.
She bit back words yearning to be set free, to let him know how deeply he touched her heart, how quickly he’d become a part of her life, her soul. Only, she was still too unsure how he would accept the words . . . if he would accept them. Would he believe her? People said I love you too frequently, devalued its importance.
Foolishly, she’d once thought she loved Justin. Now she saw she had loved the idea of being in love. Her pride had been stung over the breakup, and ridiculously she’d permitted the incident to cause her ego and self-confidence to suffer. As she stared at the handsome man, sharing the simple pleasure of the lock, she