Lone eagle читать онлайн

She was going to study something like literature or history, with a minor in Italian or French. If nothing else, she could always teach one day. But other than law, there were no careers that particularly fascinated her. And both her parents assumed that she would get married when she finished school. College would just be something interesting for her to do while she waited for the right man.

Joe's name came up after she met him, once or twice in the ensuing months, not as a prospect for her, but for something new or important he'd achieved.

Her father took even greater interest in him now that he'd met him, and reminded Kate of him more than once. But she needed no prompting, she had never forgotten him, nor heard from him either. He was just a very interesting person she'd met, and eventually her fascination with him began to pale. Her other pursuits, like college and her friends, were far more real.

It was the last weekend of the summer, the Labor Day weekend, when she and her parents went to a party they attended every year, usually after they returned from their summer trip.

It was a barbecue given by their neighbors in Cape Cod. Everyone in the area went, there were children and old people, and families, and their hosts built an enormous bonfire on the beach. She was standing in a group of her cohorts, toasting marsh-mallows and hot dogs, when she took a step back from the flames, and backed into someone she hadn't seen. She turned to apologize for stepping on their feet, although she knew it couldn't have hurt much. She was wearing shorts and bare feet. And as she looked up at her victim, she saw in amazement that it was Joe Allbright. And as soon as she saw him, she just stared at him and couldn't speak, as she clutched her stick of flaming marshmallows and he grinned.

“You'd better watch that, before you set someone on fire.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for a marshmallow,” he said, “yours look a little overcooked.” They were turning to ash on the stick, as she stared at him, unable to believe he was standing there.

He looked happy to see her, and in khaki pants and a sweater, he looked like a kid. And his feet were bare too.

“When did you come back from California?” she asked, feeling an instant rapport with him again. It was as though they were old friends, and both of them seemed suddenly oblivious to the people they were with. She had been in a group of young people, and he had driven up to the Cape with an old friend.