Page 39 of A Dark and Stormy Night

"I'm in Virtue Falls, Washington. This" — I waved my transparent glowing hand around at the towering old trees, concrete fountain, and neglected grass — "used to be a cemetery."

"In town, they told me they believed your grave was not moved when the city officials made this a park."

A little surprised, I nodded. "Makes sense."

"Did you not know?"

"No. Not that."

"You don't know where your grave is?"

"Not my grave."

At that, she viewed me oddly.

But bound by whatever rules there were, I couldn't say more.

"So, Frank Vincent, what is your story? Why isn't your spirit at rest?"

"I made too many mistakes, left too much unfinished, failed too often."

"Who did you fail?"

Not, "How did you fail" but "Who?" Areila was an acute young woman, seeing through the rhetoric to the heart of a matter. Again Areila reminded me of Sofia, intelligent and discerning. Did I dare remember those days gone by when all of life was warm sunshine and new feelings? I missed Sofia every moment of eternity. Surely talking about her would help . . . somehow . . . "I loved a woman," I said.

Areila pulled her knit hat off her head and fluffed her dark hair. "Here in Virtue Falls?"

"Not at all. She lived in Port Angeles. I was from Seattle. We met one summer when my family took a house on the coast. I met her on the beach. We got to know each other and she was unlike any girl I knew." I found myself smiling at the memories of Sofia dancing barefoot on the sand. "She was earthy. Funny. Ethereal. Loving. But we . . . our families disapproved. My family looked down on her. And — so much worse! — her family looked down on me." I mocked myself, but my pride, a young man's pride, had truly been stung. "The conflict in Europe was steadily growing more deadly. To me, it seemed inevitable that the United States would go to war. So I took my patriotism and my stung pride and joined the Army. When I told my love, she cried. I comforted her." In the way of lovers . . . "But I didn't tell her what was in my heart."

"How sad," Areila whispered.

Again, I thought she understood more than I had said. "But, of course, my duty called and I left anyway. While I was in training, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. We went to war with a vengeance. Only then did I realize I had loved the most beautiful woman in the world, and I might never see her again. Would probably never see her again. I wrote, giving her my sincere protestations of love and telling her that before I shipped away to Europe or the Pacific, I would return and we would marry. I begged her to wait for me. For all the three brief weeks left in my training, I never heard back."

"Was she so angry she ignored you?"

"I sometimes wondered if her family — they were very protective of her — intercepted my mail."

Areila nodded. "In those days, with women as restricted as they were, that is definitely a possibility. Did she wait?"

"I don't know because I never returned. I never returned." As I said those words, pain swept me, and I shut out the world.

When I returned, morning's light lit the sky and Areila was gone.

Eugene Park

Thursday Afternoon

The following afternoon Areila braved the constant drizzle in a puffy yellow raincoat. From a distance, she looked as harmless as a day-old baby chick perched on the bench, and I had the thought I shouldn't involve her in my day-to-day hell. Yet I wouldn't hurt her and as to the danger that stalked the park . . . I would know if she was menaced and warn her. Somehow. Even if it broke every rule that bound me.

So with that noble resolve, I joined her. "I'm sorry I abandoned you so abruptly last night."

She pulled her hood closer around her face and did not look into my face. "You were . . . shimmering."

"I found I was unable to continue my story."

"Oh." Her expression fell. "I had hoped you would tell me what happened to you. And her. Your love. Did she ever know what happened to you?"

"No one knew. Not her. Not my family."

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