The Seeker A Novel (R. B. Chesterton) by R. B. Chesterton Page B

“And you saw no one near here?”
    “I’ve never seen anyone here. Except you.”
    He cupped a hand on my elbow. “Let’s get you back to a warm place. You might be over the worst of the cold, but freezing won’t do you any good.”
    I’d hoped for a hike around the pond, but my strength flagged even as we headed back to the little cabin that was a replica of the one where Thoreau and Bonnie lived. A docent was there to unlock it and welcome the tourists—an unlikely occurrence in the cold. Joe steered me to his car.
    “Could we get a coffee?” I asked.
    “Sure.” His reaction was unreadable.
    He drove to the Honey Bea and we hurried out of the cold and into the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. Joe ordered two coffees and two sticky buns. “Very presumptuous,” I said, but I took away the sting with a smile.
    “You look like you lost twenty pounds while you were sick. And I’m starving. If you don’t want yours, I’ll eat both.”
    “You’ll have to fight me.”
    We settled at a table and fell on the hot, sweet rolls as soon as they were served.
    Our conversation centered on Thoreau and his writing. I let Joe talk, offering a few insights. We finished the food and coffee, and he rose to take me home.
    At the cabin, he stopped me before I got out of his truck. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
    His invitation caught me unprepared. I had no ready excuse, and didn’t want to turn him down. Conflicting emotions assailed me. It was a mistake to accept the date, but I was lonely. I’d been by myself for a long time. And I liked Joe. Maybe too much. “Okay.”
    “I’ll pick you up at six and we’ll drive into Boston. Have a few drinks at Bayside Bill’s, then dinner at Filbert’s. How does that sound?”
    “Perfect.” My dating experience with men was limited, but I liked that he knew how to arrange an evening. He made the choices and asked if I wanted to go along. None of the waffling of modern men. “Casual?” I wasn’t familiar with either establishment, but Joe didn’t strike me as a tie-and-tails kind of man.
    “You named it.” He opened his door but before he could exit the truck, I popped out. “See you at six.”

9
    In Bayside Bill’s, the Bay State accents were as ubiquitous as the beers sliding down the bar. It was a rambunctious place filled with loud laughter and cheers for a televised football game. Celtic music floated in the background—tin whistle, drum, and fiddle. Among the raucous crowd, Joe was known and well-liked. Men came to our table to slap him on the back and check me out. New blood. It wasn’t a bad feeling.
    A pretty redhead at the bar felt otherwise. If looks could kill, I would be skewered to the wall with a spear in my heart. Joe had a sweetheart, whether he liked it or not.
    “Who is she?” I asked, staring at her. She refused to back down, even when I’d caught her glaring.
    “Her name is Karla Steele.” A flush touched his cheeks. I couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or anger.
    Karla Steele had pretty eyes, nice hair, a good figure. “What went wrong?”
    Joe touched my hand, the first intimacy of the evening. “I wouldn’t have come here if I’d known she was here. Please just ignore her. She’s not … stable.”
    “In that she might come over here and pull my hair for dating her beau?” I meant to be flip, but my attempt at humor failed.
    “She’s liable to do more than pull your hair, Aine. She’s an unhappy person and she has to blame someone. Right now, I’m her target.”
    “What’s the quote? ‘Hell had no fury… .’ Did you spurn her?”
    “When I realized she was mentally unbalanced, I stopped dating her. She didn’t take it well.”
    “She still wants you.” Her desire was palpable. It rose off her in waves. I looked away, disconcerted. She wasn’t someone to mess with. Unstable people were extremely dangerous. They’d as likely chop off a hand or sever an Achilles tendon as spit in someone’s soup. It all