“It’s what I want,” I said.

“It’s been a year and a half,” Allen said. “I’m not sure how well it will go.”

“I think we’re after something more significant than a one-night stand,” I said. “Tonight won’t decide what happens between us.”

A Chevy Blazer pulled into the lot, and one of the cameramen who’d been at the meeting got out and entered the lobby. The motel’s gaudy neon sign flickered on. For the first time I could remember, the Tamassee River Motel flashed its NO VACANCY sign.

As the parking lot filled up around us, the room windows brightened. Occasionally there was the sound of an ice bucket being filled, a door being shut. Lightning bugs sparked as they hovered above grass already dampened with dew. We left the car and went to our separate rooms.

In the bathroom I found that the onset of love had not produced any miracles as far as my appearance, so I settled for what cosmetics could do. Many of the older people in Tamassee believed mirrors were passageways between the living and the dead, and after funerals every mirror in a house was veiled so the departed couldn’t return. Aunt Margaret had done the same when Momma died, shrouding each one with a piece of dark muslin. I wondered what Claire Pritchard-Hemphill might feel if she watched me prepare myself to make love to her husband. A dim sadness? Or perhaps the dead were beyond such human concerns.

I cut off the light and went into the main room and sat on the bed. When I heard Allen’s footsteps I did not wait for a knock before opening the door.

CHAPTER 8

I woke to the sound of rain. Lying in bed I wondered if the Kowalskys and Brennon also heard that rain and understood what it meant.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Allen said, when I opened my eyes. He nuzzled close to me.

“It’s raining,” I said, settling my back deeper into Allen’s chest.

“Good,” Allen whispered, pressing his mouth against my ear. “There’s nothing better than being in bed with a woman on a rainy morning.”

“It’s not good for Brennon or Kowalsky,” I said. “If the Tamassee rises over one and a half feet, I doubt they’ll be able to put that dam up even if Luckadoo does give them permission.”

“Maybe the rain will let up soon.”

“Maybe, but it also depends on what it’s doing upstream.” I looked at the clock on the lamp table. “Almost eight,” I said. “What time will they make the announcement?”

“Phillips said between eleven and twelve. We’ve still got a little while,” he said, as I turned to him.