Chapter One

It was early October 1946, and Nick Jonas watched the fading sun sink lower from the wrap-around porch of his ranch-styled home. He liked to sit here especially after a hard working day, just to let his mind and thoughts wander without conscious direction. It was how he relaxed, a routine he'd lerned from his father.

He especially liked to look at the trees and their reflections in the small pond he owned right next to his house. Tenessee trees are beautiful in a season of falling leves; there are red, green, yellow and red leaves and of course in every shade between.

The colors sometimes glow with the sun, and for the hundreth time, Nick Jonas wondered if the original owners of the house had spent their evenings thinking the same things.

The house was built many years ago, in 1774, making it one of the olders as well as largest homes in Tenesse. Originally it was the main house on a working plantation and he had bought it right after the war ended and had spent the last eleven months and a small fortune repairing it.

The reporter from a big newspapers agency had done an article about it a few weeks ago and said it was one of the finest houses he'd ever seen. At least something in his life had reached a winning peek.

The home sat on acres and acres of medows and a small pond. He still had a lot of work to do to design it properly, especially on the west side. He even made a mental note earlier when he put away the tools to call a gardener to get an idea on how to make his grass grow thicker. He'd gone into the house, drunk a glass of home made lemonade then showered.

He always showered at the end of the day, the water washing away both dirt and fatigue.

Afterward, he'd combed his hair back with gel, put on some faded jeans and a long-sleeved blue, gree or checkered shirt, poured himself a glass of red wine and gone to the porch, where he now sat, where he sat every day at this time.

He stretched hi arm above his head, then out to the sides, rolling his shoulders as he completed the routine. He felt good and clean now, fresh. His muscles were tired and he knew he'd be a little sore tomorrow, but he was pleased that he had accomplished most of what he had wanted to do.

Nick reached for his guitar, remembering his father as he did so, thinking how much he missed him. He strummed once, adjusted te tension on three strings, then strummed again. This time it sounded better, and he began to play. Soft music, quiet music. He hummed for a little while at first, then began to sing as night came down around him. He played and sang until the sun was gone and the sky was black.

It was little after nine o'clock when he quit, and he settled back into the his chair and began to rock. Elivs, his hound dog, came up to him then and nuzzled his hand before lying down at his feet.

"Hey, boy, how're you doing?" he asked as he patted the dog's head, and Elvis whined softly, his soft round eyes peering upward. An acctident had taken his tail, but he still moved well enough and kept Nick company on quiet nights like these.

Nick Jonas was thirty-one now, not too old, but old enough to be lonely. He hadn't dated since he'd been back here, hadn't met anyone who remotely interested him. It was his own fault, he knew it. There was something that kept a distance between him and any woman who started to get close, something he wasn't sure he could change even if he tried.

And sometimes right before sleep came, he wondered if he was destined to be alone forever.

The evening passed, staying warm, nice. Nick listened to crickets and the rustling leaves, thinking that the sound of nature was more real and aroused more emotion than things like cars and planes. Natural things gave back more that they took, and their sounds always brought him back to the way man was supposed to be. There were times during the war, especially after a major engagement, when he had often thought about these simple sounds.

His best friend these days was Garbo, an old man who lived a few farms over. He usually visited Nick often, sometimes at night sometimes in the morning. Garbo had many children and even more grandchildren so he had to get out of the house at some point in the day. Nick had even come to regard Garbo as family.

There wasn't anyone else, at least not since his father died last year. He was an only child; his mother had died delvering Nick, and though he had wanted to at one time, he had never married.

But he had been in love once, that he knew. Once and only once, and a long time ago. And it had changed him forever. Perfect love did that to a person, and this had been perfect.

Grey clouds slowly began to roll across the evening sky, turning pitchy red with the reflection of the last rays of the sun. As they thickened and the moon slowly appeared, he leaned his head back and rested it against the rocking chair. His legs moved automatically, keeping a steady rhythm, and as he did most evenings he felt his mind wander back to a warm evening fourteen years ago.

It was just after graduation 1932., the opening night of the town's festival. The town was out in full, enjoying barbecue and games of chance. It was humid that night, for some reason he remembered that clearly. He arrived alone, and as he strolled down the lane and through the crown he saw Joe and Demi, two people he'd grown up with, talking to a girl he'd never seen before.

She was pretty, he remembered thinking, and when he finally joined them, she looked his way with a pair of hazy eyes that kept on coming. "Hi," she'd said simply.

Nick offered her his hand, but she shook her hand and threw her arms around him. "Joseph here told me a lot about you." Later on, he found out she didn't do handshakes, only hugs.

It wasn't an ordinary meeting, but in the same time it wasn't anything special. It was something that would have been forgotten had it been anyone but her. But as he hugged her back and met those striking blue eyes, he knew before he'd taken his next breath that she was the one he could spend the rest of his live looking for but never find again.

She seemed that good, that perfect, while a summer wind blew through the trees.

From there, it went like a tornado wind. Joe told him she was spending the summer in Tenessee with her family because her father worked for a nearby plantation, and he only nodded, the way she was looking at him made his silence seem okay.

Joe laughed then, because he knew what was happening, and Demi suggested they get some frapes down by the Ferris Wheel ride. The four of them stayed at the festival until the crowds were thin and everything closed up for the night.

They met the following day, and the day after that, and they soon became inseparable. Every morning but Sunday when he had to go to church, he would finish his chores as quickly as possible, then make a straight line to a big park in the center of the town, where she'd be waiting for him. Because she was a newcomer and hadn't spent time in a small town before, they spent their days doing things that were brand new to her.

He taught her how to bait a line and fish the shallows for largemouth bass and took her exploring through the backwoods of the forest. They rode in canoes and watched summer thunderstorms and to him it seemed as though they'd always known each other.

Don't get this wrong, he learned things as well. Like when she taught him how to waltz and do the Charleston, and though they stumbled through the first few songs, jer patience with him eventually paid off, and they danced together until the music ended. He walked her home afterward, and when they paused on the porch after saying goodnight, he kissed her for the first time and wondered why he had waited as long as he had.

Later in the summer he brought her to this house, looked past the old railings and roof, and told her that one day he was going to own it and fix it up. They spent hours together talking about the future –how they were going to see the world, how she was going to become an artist—and on a warm night in August they both lost their virginity. When she left three weeks later, she took a piece of him and the rest of summer wih her.

He watched her leave town on an early rainy morning, watched through eyes that hadn't slept the night before, then went home and packed a bag. He spent the next week alone in the abandoned house.

Nick ran his hands through his hair. He remembered talking to Garbo about her. The first time he mentioned her, Garbo started to shake his head and laugh. "So that's the ghost you've been running from."

When Nick asked him what he meant by that, Garbo said, "You know, the ghost, the memory. I've been watching you working day and night, slaving so hard you barely have time to breathe. People do that for three reasons only. Either they're crazy, stupid or they're truing to forget. Snd with you, I just knew you were rying to forget. I just didn't know what."

He thought about what Garbo had said. Garbo was right, of course. Tennesse was haunted now. Haunted by the ghost of her memory. He saw her in the park where they used to meet up, it was their place. Either sitting on the bench or standing by the gate, always smiling, brown hair softly touching beneth her breasts, her eyes the colour of the ocean.

When he sat on the porch at night with his guitar, he saw her beside him softly singing all the songs he had written. He felt the same when he went to the supermarket down town. Everywhere he looked, he saw her image, saw things that brought her back to life.

It was odd, he knew that. He had grown up in Tennesse, spent his first seventeen years here. But when he thought about this town, he seemd to only remember last summer, the summer they were together. Other memories were simply forgotten, sometimes only fragments here and there of growing up, and only few, if any, evoked any feelings.

He had told Garbo about it one night, and not only had Garbo understood, but he had been the first to explain why. He said simply that night, "The first time you fall in love, it changes your life forever, and no matter how hard you try, the feeling never goes away. This girl, no mattter what you do, will stay with you forever."

Earlier that evening, and a hundred miles away, she sat alone on the porch swing of her parents home, one leg crossed beneath her. The clouds were fading now, and she looked past them towards the stars, wondering if she'd made the right decision.

She'd struggled with it for days and days but in the end, she knew she would never forgive herself if she let the opportunity slip away.

Liam didn't know the real reason she left the following morning. The week before, she'd hinted to him that she might want to visit an antique show near the coast. She told him it would be only a couple of days, and how she needed a break from planning the wedding.

She felt really bad for lying but she knew there was no way she could tell him the truth. Her leaving had nothing to do with him, and it wouldn't be fair of her to ask him to understand.

It was an easy drive from Texas, slightly more than two hours and she arrived a little before eleven. She checked into a small inn downtown, went to her room, unpacked her suitcase, hanging her dresses in the closet and putting everything else in drawers. She had a quick lunch, asked the waitress for directions to the neares antique store, then spent the next few hours shopping. By four-thirty she was back in her room.

She sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the phone and called Liam. He couldn'y speak long, he was due in the operation room, but before they hung up she gave him the phone number where she was staying and she promised to call the following day do he wouldn't suspect anything.

She'd known him almost four years now. When they met, the world war and America were one year in. Everyone was doing their part, and she was volunteering at the hospital downtown. When Liam, with all his charm, introduced himself at a New Years Eve party, she saw in him exactly what she needed: someone with confidence about the future and a sense of humor that drove all her fears away.

He was handsome, intelligent and driven, a successful surgeon two years older than she, and he pursued his job with passion, not only saving peoples lives but also making a name of himself.

Despite the long hours he worked, he was good to her. He was a gentleman, both mature and responsible, and during those terrible periods of war when she needed someone to hold her, he never once turned her away. She felt secure with him and knew he loved her as well, and that was why she had accepted his proposal.

Thinking these things made her feel quilty about being here, and she knew she should pack her things and leave before she changed her mind. She had done it once before, long ago, and if she left now, she was hundered percent sure she would never have the strenght to do it again. To return here.

She packed all of her bags back into the bags and almsot made it to the door. But coincidence had pushed her here, and she put the bags down again, realising that if she quit now, she would always wonder what would have happened.

And she didn't think she could live with that.

She went to the bathroom then, and started a bath. She found her makeup bag, opened it and pulled out a razor and a bar of soap, then undressed. She had been called beautful since she was a young girl.

She took the razor and soap, then she entered the bathroom again, turned off the faucet, set a towel where she could reach it, and stepped in gingerly.

She liked the way a bath relaxed her, and she slipped lower into the water. The day had been long and her back was tense, but she was pleased she had finished shopping so quickly. She reached for it, lathered up and began to shave her legs. As she did, she thought about her parents and what they would think of her behavior. No doupt they would disapprove, especially her mother. Her mother never really accepted what had happened the summer they'd spent here and wouldn't accept it now, no matter what reason she gave.

She finished shaving then finally got out of the bath, before toweling off. She wnet to the closet and looked for a dress, finially choosing a long yellow one that dipped slightly in the front. She slipped it on and looked in the mirror. It fit her well.

She wore little make up, ust a touch of eye shadow and mascarea to accent her eyes. Perfume next, not too much. She slipped on the tan, lowheeled sandals she had been wearing earlier. She brushed her hair, pinned it up, and looked in the mirror again.

No, it was too much, the thought.

She let it back down. Better.

When she was finished she stepped back and evaluated herslef. She looked good: not too dressy not too casual. She didn't want to over do it. After all, she didn't know what to expect. It had been a long time.

She looked down and saw her hands were shaking, and she laughed to herself. It was strange; she wasn't normally this nervous. Like Liam, she had always been confident, even as a child.

She found her car keys, then picked up her room key. She turned it over in her hand a couple of times, thinking, You've come this far, don't give up now, and almost left then, but instead she sat on the bed again.

She looked down on her watch. Six o'clock. She knew she had to leave in a few minutes – she din't want to arrive after dark, but she needed a little more time.

"Damn," she whispered, "what am I doing here? I shouldn't be here. There's no reason for it." But once she said it, she knew it wasn't true. There was something here. If nothing, she would have her answer.

She opened her pocketbook she carried everywhere and thumbed though it until she came to a folded-up piece of newspaper. After taking it out slowly almsot reverently, being careful not to rip it, she unfolded it and stared at it for a while.

"This is why," she finally said to herself. "This is what it's all about."

She took a deep breath and stoog again. "It's now or never," she whispered, then picked up her things and went to the door. She paused onlu slightly, then reached the door. The manager smiled as she walked by, and she could feel his eyes on her as she left and went to her car. She slipped behind the wheel, looked at herself one last time, then started the engine and turned right. She wasn't surprised that she still knew her way around town so well.

Even though she hadn't been here in years, it wasn't large and she navigated the streets easily. It was beautiful here in the low country, as it always had been. To her it hadn't changed at all. Broken sunlight passed through water oakes and hickory trees a hudnred feet tall, illuminating the colors of fall. On her left, she could trace a picture of a small pond. The gravel road itself wound it's way forward and the sun hung just above the trees on her let.

A majestic oak tree on the banks of the river came into view next, and the memories became more intense. It looked the same as it had back then, branches low and thick, stretching horizontally along the ground with Spanish moss draped over the limbs like a veil. She remembered sitting beneath the tree on a hot July day with someone who looked at her with a longing that took everything else away.

And it had been at that moment that she'd first fallen in love.

Another turn in the road and she finally saw it in the distance. The house had changes dramatically from what she remembered. She slowed the car as she approached, turning into the long, tree-lined dirt drive that led to the beacon that had summoned her from here.

She drove slowly, looking toward the house, and took a deep breath when she saw him on the porch watching her car. He was dressed casually. From a distance, he looked the same as he had back then. For a moment, when the light from the sun was behind him, he almost seemed to vanish into the scenery.

Her car continued forward, rolling slowly, then finally stopped beneath an oak tree that shaded the front of the house. She turned the key, never taking her eyes from him, and the engine sputtered to a halt.

He stepped off the porch and began to approach her, walking easily, then suddenly stopped cold as she emerged from the car. For a long time all they could do was stare at each other without moving.

Miley Cyrus, twenty-nine years old and engaged, a socialite, searching for answers she needed to know, and Nick Jonas, the dreamer, thirty-one, visited by the ghost that had come to dominate his life.

A/N: Do you like it so far? Sorry for grammar mistakes I don't have time to check the chapter.