Tuesday, March 14

"I was up fishing at Pearl Lakes yesterday," Cooper said with a contented sigh as he finished off the last bite of egg salad sandwich in his hand. He smiled and chewed, considering his next words before uttering them. "I know I've said it before but it bears repeating: you have some of the finest countryside in the world right here in your backyard."

Sheriff Truman nodded sagely. "It's nice to hear the thing we townspeople all believe coming from the mouth of a visitor."

"Especially from one so esteemed as yourself," Dr. Jacoby added.

"I believe in the old maxim that beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Major Briggs announced. "But in the case of this wondrous place, I think we can all agree objectively that there's nowhere quite like our corner of the world."

"Amen to that," Truman raised his glass, and Cooper smiled, heaving another contented sigh into the overflowing Palmer living room.

Mere hours had passed since Leland Palmer was interred in a plot adjacent to his daughter's. Cooper had noted that Sarah Palmer had been right: there was barely any grass yet covering Laura's grave. But sadder still was the fact that the cold nights that still pervaded the hauntingly beautiful landscape Cooper loved so much had frost-bitten and wilted the once lively bouquets arranged around Laura's headstone. The brittle, brownish stems stood out against the freshness of Leland's arrangements, a fact that made Cooper not a little bit sad. emThe passage of time takes no prisoners, amongst either the living or the dead, /emhe thought, suddenly wishing he'd brought a bouquet to lay on the daughter's grave as well as the father's.

Cooper excused himself for a moment, wandering near the food spread and eyeing the plates of deviled eggs and Waldorf salad, odd dishes with marshmallows and gelatin that he'd never seen and had no real interest in taste-testing; instead, he opted for a small glass of punch, poured by a younger member of the Hayward family, and consumed as he waded through the sea of people, looking for someone to bump into.

That's when he saw Audrey, nestled on the couch next to Sarah, deep in conversation. It made him smile. Audrey, he noted, took over the role of caregiver so effortlessly. He wanted to watch her hold hands with the grieving widow and mother, to listen to her hushed affirmations of the good still left in this world, to feel the warmth radiating from her solar plexus…

She lifted her eyes and for a moment they collided with his, and he felt the butterflies-in-his-stomach feeling that he thought he'd left behind in middle school rear up next to the sandwich and the punch. She lost her smile and her eyes darkened, and he suddenly wondered if he had been right in his actions the day before.

Permitting himself a moment to think, he remembered waking up next to her and ordering room service for two while she showered and got ready for their fishing trip. He recalled the delicate way she held her knife as she smeared a square of butter over a piece of still-warm rye toast, or the way she'd brushed crumbs from her lower lip with the tip of her thumb, completely unaware of her effect on him as he lost his ability to recognize the end of his hand and the handle of his coffee cup and spilled half of it onto himself and the bedspread. Audrey giggled and helped him clean up, but he knew this was bigger than a momentary lapse of concentration.

"Audrey,"he'd said. "We should talk…"

And they talked—obliquely—about expectations and reality, and when she didn't seem to get it, he got more focused and talked about his departure a mere few days away, and when that still failed to break through, whether owing to her naiveté or deliberate denial, he rested a hand on hers and broke it to her as gently as he could: "I don't know if this is a good idea."

Audrey didn't cry or rant and rail. She softened; she didn't finish her toast. But he didn't think she understood or was anywhere near okay with his unilateral decision; to be honest, he wasn't okay with his unilateral decision, as much for its unfairness to her for him to be deciding their future together as the fact that he hated the thought of not being with her.

But the romance of two beautiful nights together had given him a taste of something he knew he would start to crave, and if he couldn't think about her and pour his own damn coffee without sustaining first-degree burns to his thighs, how was he supposed to exercise his duties and responsibilities to the law, to the FBI? emThis is what got Caroline killed/em, he reminded himself, stopping just short of telling Audrey the full weight of that truth. He'd hurt her enough already, that much was clear—written into her eyes and the emotional tremble of her voice. He didn't want to scare her too.

Nevertheless, they cancelled their fishing trip; Cooper drove up to Pearl Lakes alone, and Audrey went home for the first time in who knows how long. That had been the last time he'd seen her.

Now, across the room from her, he wondered if he'd made the right decision. Logic dictated he had—that it was too dangerous, that she was too young, that he was incapable of both being a lawman and a lover—but passion dictated a different script. His heart surged as he thought about taking her away, muttering his apologies against her lips. But when he looked up at her again, she wasn't looking back.

It's over, he told himself.

Cooper's thoughts were rudely interrupted by the fight that broke out next to the buffet table, as Mayor Milford began cursing at his brother Dougie. From Cooper's point of view, it seemed amusing, despite its inappropriateness given the time and the place. Sheriff Truman and Ed Hurley worked themselves into the fray to dislodge the sparring siblings from their attack stances, and a few choice words from the young sheriff sent Doug and Dwayne on their ways.

Standing nearby, Doc Hayward and Pete Martell shared in Cooper's mild laughter.

"They seem to be having fun," he remarked.

"The mayor and his brother," Pete choked out. "Dougie owns the newspaper. They've had a running feud going for fifty years."

Doc Hayward was quick to add. "Nobody knows how it started. Something about an old flame and a rumble seat. I don't even think they know anymore."

Cooper listened with rapt attention, soaking up the latest droplets of small town life that he'd been gulping down by the bucketful since his arrival.

Pete shrugged. "The nest's a little stirred up right now. Dougie's engaged to be married. To a babe."

Doc Hayward added: "For the fifth time…"

"She's still in her teens, he's a hundred and ten," Pete drawled. "One o' those January-December sort of deals."

Amazing, Cooper thought to himself with a slow, bemused shake of his head.

"Remember the first time Dwayne ran for mayor? When was that?" Doc Hayward asked Harry, who had joined their circle.

The young sheriff racked his brain. "Oh uh...62? Yeah, 1962."

The doctor gave a quick chortle. "Dougie wrote an editorial, came out against Dwayne…and he was running emunopposed/em…"

Cooper shook his head again, catching the eye of his partner-in-crime-prevention. "Harry," he started. "I'm really gonna miss this place."

Harry clapped a hand onto Cooper's shoulder. "Well we're gonna miss you too," he said, with a deliberate glance over toward the sofa in the sitting room. "Some of us more than others."

Cooper knew—without looking—who he was referring to. He shook his head and gazed into his cup. "Harry, I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

Harry nodded slowly, sagely, and stifled a laugh of his own. "If you say so."

Cooper sighed. "If you must know…" he started. "There are some I'll miss more than others."

"Like who?"

Cooper allowed himself to stray, his eyes falling to the graceful slope of Audrey's shoulders, the soft line of her hair against the nape of her neck and the pale skin he saw peeking through the space in between the cascade of ebony tresses and the collar of her black jacket. He concealed a sigh and hoped Harry was none the wiser as he chirped up again and placed a hand firmly on the sheriff's shoulder.

"Well you, for starters."

Harry laughed and downed what was left of his punch, and the two of them made their way to the table for a refill.