Woman Looking At Lake



                            From WHISPERS THROUGH TIME...



For the first time since he’d come back into her life, she allowed little flashes of memory to flit through her mind, like tiny snapshots in time. She hated to admit it, but she felt as if the joy in her life hadn’t begun until Hunter Davenport entered it…and it had disappeared once he left.

She remembered the weekend they’d gone camping in Garner State Park and set up their tent in a secluded spot near the Frio River. It was gorgeous and
romantic—until a herd of wild pigs crashed through their campsite, scaring the hell out of everyone for miles around.

And then the time they wanted to spend a weekend in a Holiday Inn on the beach down in Corpus Christi, but they didn’t have two nickels to rub together. Hunter drove his old clunker to a convenience store on the corner, pulled his radio/CD player out of the dashboard, and sold it for a hundred dollars. Then they threw a few items of clothing into a gym bag, tossed in six peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a sack of potato chips, and headed for the coast.


They decorated their tiny apartment with beanbag chairs, Parsons tables, and bookshelves made out of bricks. They ate at out-of-the-way restaurants in little
towns no one had ever heard of, and bought each other one-of-a-kind presents they dictated couldn’t cost more than five dollars. They made love in places where they might get caught just for the thrill of it and watched old movies and ate popcorn until dawn. They played Monopoly by candlelight during thunderstorms,
drinking so much wine they had no idea who won. And then there was the night when Hunter pulled over on the side of the freeway and taught her to waltz in a drainage ditch while a George Strait country song played on his truck radio at full blast…

She slammed the door on her memories. Those days were over. They were different people now.