Under a Bear Moon (23 page)
And so was she. Stepping from the walkway connecting the plane to the terminal, he saw her standing at the gate, scanning the mob.
He stopped and gazed. Her hair was longer than when he'd last seen her, falling well past her waist. She was taller and slimmer than he remembered, and much more beautiful.
She spotted him and waved. “Greg! Over here!”
“Lynda!” He pushed through the endless crowd. “Lynda,” he repeated when he finally reached her. The emptiness he'd felt ever since he'd left lodged in his throat and made it hard to speak. “I—I missed you.”
Reaching up, she brushed the hair off his forehead. “I missed you, too.”
She pulled his head down, and her lips grazed his. He smiled; she still smelled like summer flowers. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her. Their lips touched again, merged, and the emptiness vanished.
“How are you, Greg?” she asked when they parted. “And your parents, how are they?”
Locking their arms around each other, they turned and let the crowd push them toward the baggage claim area.
“Same as always. Dad's mellowed since his book came out.”
“I saw a review of it in the Tribune Sunday Magazine. They liked it.” She looked up and smiled. “My folks are expecting you for dinner, you know, and they want you to stay the weekend. The dorms don't open until Monday, so I figured it'd be okay.”
“Sounds great. Will you be living on campus?”
Her smile broadened. “Same dorm you're in. Mom and Dad don't exactly approve, but when I reminded them I could always get my own place, they decided not to hassle me about it.”
They chatted about school, family, and friends while they waited for his luggage to appear on the slowly revolving belt. After snagging his duffel bag and suitcase, they headed for the parking garage.
She led him to a green hatchback. “Here it is. Grandma Malone's idea of the perfect birthday present.”
He ran a finger along the white detailing and grinned. “I agree.” Throwing his stuff into the back, he squeezed into the passenger seat.
She got in on the driver's side and leaned forward to turn on the ignition. Their shoulders touched when she sat back. “Greg?” she said, suddenly shy in the intimate con-fines of the car.
“Yes.”
She stared out the windshield a moment, then turned to him. “I checked the Farmer's Almanac. The moon won't rise until after midnight tonight, but it'll be full. I was wondering—would you dance with me under the bear moon?”
His smile was all the answer she needed.
A resident of Chicago's Hyde Park for over ten years, Carrie now lives in the suburbs with her husband, four children, and a psychotic house rabbit. A veteran of many bedtime story hours, she made up werebear stories to keep her five-year-old niece happy on long car drives. The niece loved the stories, but hated the nightmares they gave her.
How did you like the story? Please drop by Carrie's web site at: http://www.masek.net or write her at PO Box 113, Lake Bluff, IL 60044, and let her know.
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