Alvin raised his hands. "His word, not mine."

"But he knows it's just the light from the paper mill."

Alvin nodded. "Yeah, he knows. He just thought it might be a nice touch. You know, the big ta-da to really impress them."

Jeremy shook his head in disbelief. Nate had had a lot of crazy ideas over the years, but this one took the cake. He was like that, though. Anything that popped into his head came out of his mouth, and half the time, he wouldn't even remember saying it.

"He also said you should call," Alvin added.

"I would," Jeremy said, "but I left my cell phone back at Greenleaf." He paused. "You didn't tell him about the diary, did you?"

"I didn't even know about it then," Alvin said. "You didn't tell me until after he called. Like I said, he woke me up from my nap."

Jeremy nodded thoughtfully. "If he does call you again, just keep it to yourself for a while, okay?"

"You don't want him to know that the mayor's running a scam?"

"No," he said. "Not yet."

Alvin looked at him. "Not yet, or not ever?"

Jeremy didn't answer right away. That was the real question, wasn't it? "I haven't decided."

Alvin squinted through the lens once more. "It is a tough one," he said. "It might be enough to make the story, you know. I mean, the lights are one thing, but you have to realize that the solution isn't all that interesting."

"What do you mean?"

"For television. I'm not so sure they're going to be interested in the fact that a pa.s.sing train causes the lights."

"It isn't just the pa.s.sing train," Jeremy corrected. "It's the way the lights from the paper mill are reflected by the train onto Riker's Hill, and how the greater density of the fog in the sinking cemetery makes the lights appear."

Alvin feigned a yawn. "Sorry," he said. "You were saying?"

"It's not boring," Jeremy insisted. "Don't you realize how many things had to come together to create this phenomenon? How the quarries changed the water tables and made the cemetery sink? The placement of the train trestle? The phases of the moon, since it's only dark enough to see the lights at certain times? The legend? The location of the paper mill and the train schedule?"

Alvin shrugged. "Trust me. It's boring with a capital B. B. To be honest, it would have been a lot more interesting if you hadn't found the solution. Television audiences love mysteries. Especially in places like New Orleans or Charleston or someplace cool and romantic. But reflected lights in Boone Creek, North Carolina? Do you really think people in New York or Los Angeles care?" To be honest, it would have been a lot more interesting if you hadn't found the solution. Television audiences love mysteries. Especially in places like New Orleans or Charleston or someplace cool and romantic. But reflected lights in Boone Creek, North Carolina? Do you really think people in New York or Los Angeles care?"

Jeremy opened his mouth to say something and suddenly remembered that Lexie had said exactly the same thing about the phenomenon, and she lived here. In the silence, Alvin looked at him.

"If you're serious about this television gig, you're going to need to spice it up somehow, and the diary you were telling me about just might be enough to do that. You can do the piece just like you researched it and spring the diary at the end. That might be enough to get the producers' attention if you did it right."

"You think I should throw the town to the wolves?"

Alvin shook his head. "I didn't say that. And to be honest, I'm not even sure that the diary will be enough. I'm just telling you that if you can't come up with some ooze, you'd better give using the diary some thought if you don't want to look like an idiot at the meeting."

Jeremy looked away. The train, he knew, would be coming in just a few minutes. "Lexie would never talk to me again if I did that," he said. He shrugged. "a.s.suming that she still wants to."

Alvin said nothing. In the silence, Jeremy looked his way.

"What do you think I should do?"

Alvin drew a long breath. "I think," Alvin said, "that it all comes down to what's most important to you, doesn't it?"

Nineteen.

Jeremy slept poorly on his last night at Greenleaf. He and Alvin had finished up filming-as the train pa.s.sed, Riker's Hill only faintly registered the reflected light-and after viewing the film, both he and Alvin had decided it was good enough to prove Jeremy's theory, unless they were willing to arrange for better equipment.

Still, on their way back to Greenleaf, Jeremy's mind was barely on the mystery or even the drive. Instead, he began to once again replay the last few days in his head. He remembered the first time he'd seen Lexie in the cemetery, and their spirited exchange in the library. He thought of their lunch on Riker's Hill and their visit to the boardwalk, recalled his amazement at the extraordinary party in his honor, and how he'd felt when he first glimpsed the lights in the cemetery. But most of all, he remembered those moments when he first began to realize that he was falling in love with her.

Was it really possible for so much to have happened in only a couple of days? By the time he'd reached Greenleaf and entered his room, he was trying to pinpoint the exact moment when everything started going wrong. He wasn't quite sure, but it seemed to him now that she'd been trying to run away from her feelings, not simply from him. So when had she begun to realize that she had feelings for him? At the party, like him? At the cemetery? Earlier that afternoon?

He had no idea as to the answer. All he knew was that he loved her and that he couldn't imagine never seeing her again.

The hours pa.s.sed slowly; with his flight leaving from Raleigh at noon, he would be leaving Greenleaf shortly. He rose before six, finished packing his things, and loaded them in his car. After making sure that he saw Alvin's light shining from his own room, he made his way through the chilly morning air to the office.

Jed, as he expected, scowled. His hair was even more unkempt than usual and his clothing wrinkled, so Jeremy figured he must have risen only a few minutes earlier. Jeremy set the key on his desk.

"Quite a place you have here," Jeremy said. "I'll make sure to recommend it to my friends."

If possible, Jed's expression grew even meaner, but Jeremy merely smiled ingratiatingly in return. On his way back to the room, he saw headlights bouncing in the fog as a car slowly made its way up the gravel drive. For an instant, he thought it was Lexie, and he felt a surge in his chest; when the car finally came into view, his hopes sank just as quickly.

Mayor Gherkin, bundled in a heavy jacket and scarf, emerged from the car. Showing none of the energy he had at their previous meetings, he groped his way toward Jeremy in the darkness.

"Packing up, I suppose," he called out.

"I just finished."

"Jed didn't slap you with the bill, did he?"

"No," Jeremy said. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"You're welcome. Like I said, it was the least we could do for you. I just hope you enjoyed your stay in our fine town."

Jeremy nodded, noting the worry on the mayor's face. "Yeah," he said, "I did."

For the first time since Jeremy had met him, Gherkin seemed at a loss for words. As the silence grew uncomfortable, he retucked the scarf into his jacket. "Well, I just wanted to drop by to tell you that the folks around here sure enjoyed meeting you. I know I'm speaking for the town here, but you've made quite an impression."

Jeremy put his hands in his pockets. "Why the ruse?" he asked.

Gherkin sighed. "About adding the cemetery to the tour?"

"No. I mean about the fact that your father recorded the answer in his diary and that you hid the answer from me."

A sad expression crossed Gherkin's features. "You're absolutely right," he said after a moment. His voice was hesitant. "My daddy did solve that mystery, but I suppose he was meant to." He met Jeremy's eyes. "Do you know why he became so interested in the history of our town?"

Jeremy shook his head.

"In World War II, my daddy was serving in the army with a man named Lloyd Shaumberg. He was a lieutenant, my daddy was a grunt. People these days don't seem to realize that during the war, it wasn't just soldiers out there on the front lines. Most of the people serving were just regular folks: bakers, butchers, mechanics. Shaumberg was a historian. At least that's how my daddy referred to him. Actually, he was just a history teacher at a high school in Delaware, but my daddy swore there was no finer officer in the army. He used to keep his men entertained by telling stories from the past, stories that hardly anybody knew, and it kept my daddy from being so scared about what was happening. Anyway, after the push up the boot in Italy, Shaumberg and my dad and the rest of the platoon were encircled by the Germans. Shaumberg told the men to retreat while he tried to provide cover for them. 'I don't have a choice,' he said. It was a suicide mission-everyone knew it, but that's who Shaumberg was." Gherkin paused. "Anyway, my daddy lived and Shaumberg died, and after my daddy came home from the war, he said that he'd become a historian, too, as a way to honor his friend."

When Gherkin didn't continue, Jeremy looked at him curiously. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Gherkin replied, "as I see it, I didn't have much of a choice, either. Every town needs something to call its own, something to remind folks that their home is special. In New York, you don't have to worry about that. There's Broadway and Wall Street and the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty. But down here, after all the business closings, I looked around and realized that all we had was a legend. And legends . . . well, they're just relics from the past, and a town needs more than that to survive. That's all I was trying to do, searching for a way to keep this town alive, and then you came along."

Jeremy glanced away, thinking about the boarded storefronts he'd seen when he first arrived, remembering Lexie's comment about the closing of the textile mill and phosphorous mine.

"So you came by this morning to give me your side of the story?"

"No," Gherkin said. "I came by to let you know all this was my idea. It wasn't the town council's, it wasn't the folks' who live here. Maybe I was wrong to do what I did. Maybe you don't agree with it. But I did what I thought was right for this place and the people who live here. And all I ask is that when you do your story you keep in mind that no one else was involved. If you want to sacrifice me, I can live with that. And I think my daddy would understand."

Without waiting for a response, Gherkin went back to his car, and it soon vanished into the fog.

With dawn turning the sky an overcast gray, Jeremy was helping Alvin load the last of the equipment when Lexie arrived.

She emerged from the car looking much the same as she did the first time he'd seen her, her violet eyes unreadable even as she met his gaze. In her hand was Gherkin's diary. For a moment, they faced each other as if neither one knew what to say.

Alvin, standing near the open trunk, broke the silence.

"Good morning," he said.

She forced a smile. "Hey, Alvin."

"You're up early."

She shrugged, her eyes flashing back to Jeremy. Alvin looked from one to the other before motioning over his shoulder.

"I think I'll give the room one last check," he said, despite the fact that no one seemed to be paying attention.

When he was gone, Jeremy took a deep breath. "I didn't think you'd come by," he said.

"To be honest, I wasn't sure I would, either."

"I'm glad you did," he said. The gray light reminded him of their walk on the beach near the lighthouse, and he felt with a twisting arc of pain how much he'd come to love her. Though his first instinct was to close the gap between them, her stiff posture kept him at a distance.

She nodded toward his car. "You're packed up and ready to go, I see."

"Yeah," he said. "All packed up."

"And you finished filming the lights?"

He hesitated, hating the ba.n.a.lity of their conversation. "Did you really come here to talk about my work or whether my car is packed?"

"No," she said. "I didn't."

"Why did you come, then?"

"To apologize for the way I treated you yesterday at the library. I shouldn't have acted the way I did. It wasn't fair to you."

He gave a half-smile. "It's okay," he said. "I'll get over it. And I'm sorry, too."

She held up the diary. "I brought this for you. In case you wanted it."

"I didn't think you'd want me to use it."

"I don't," she answered.

"Then why give it to me?"

"Because I should have told you about the diary pa.s.sage and I don't want you to think that anyone here is engaged in some cover-up. I can see how you might have thought the town was up to something, and this is a peace offering. But I want to a.s.sure you that it wasn't some big scheme-"

"I know," Jeremy interrupted. "The mayor came by this morning."

She nodded, and her eyes dropped before rising to meet his again. In that instant, he thought she was going to say something, but whatever it was, she stopped herself. "Well, I guess that's it," she said, pushing her hands into her coat pockets. "I should probably let you finish up so you can be on your way. I've never been a fan of long good-byes."

"So this is a good-bye?" he asked, trying to hold her gaze.

She looked almost sad as she tilted her head to the side. "It has to be, doesn't it?"

"So that's it, then? You just came by to tell me it's over?" He ran his fingers roughly through his hair, frowning. "Don't I have any say in the matter?"

Her voice was quiet when she answered. "We've been through all of this, Jeremy. I didn't come here this morning to argue, and I didn't come here to make you angry. I came because I was sorry about the way I treated you yesterday. And because I didn't want you to think that the week meant nothing to me. It did."

Her words felt like physical blows, and he struggled to speak. "But you're intent on ending this."

"I'm intent on being realistic about it," she said.

"What if I told you that I love you?"

She stared at him for a long moment before turning away. "Don't say that."

He took a step toward her. "But I do," he said. "I love you. I can't help the way I feel."

"Jeremy . . . please . . ."

He moved more quickly, sensing that he was finally breaching her defenses, his courage building with every step. "I want to make this work."

"We can't," she said.

"Of course, we can," he said, rounding the car. "We can figure this out."

"No," she said, her voice growing more adamant. She took a step backward.

"Why not?"