Nicholas Sparks - The Rescue

On the small wooden table (picked up at a garage sale for three dollars-another excellent buy for bargain-shopping ace Denise Holton!) sat two glasses of sweet tea. Denise had made it that morning in a typically southern fashion-brewed Luzianne with lots of sugar added while still hot so it could dissolve completely, then chilled in the refrigerator with ice. Judy took a drink from her glass, her eyes never leaving Kyle.

“Your mother used to love getting dirty, too,” Judy said.

“My mother?”

Judy glanced at her, amused. “Don’t look so surprised. Your mother was quite a tomboy when she was young.”

Denise reached for her glass. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same lady?” she asked. “My mother wouldn’t even collect the morning paper without putting makeup on.”

“Oh, that happened right around the time she discovered boys. That was when your mom changed her ways. She turned into the quintessential southern lady, complete with white gloves and perfect table manners, practically overnight. But don’t let that fool you. Before that, your mother was a regular Huckleberry Finn.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No-really. Your mother caught frogs, she cussed like a shrimper who’d lost his net, she even got in a few fights with boys to show how tough she was. And she was a good fighter, let me tell you. While a boy was trying to figure out whether it was okay to hit a girl, she’d sock ’em right in the nose. One time, the other kid’s parents actually called the sheriff. That poor boy was so ashamed, he didn’t go back to school for a week, but he never teased your mother again. She was one tough young lady.”

Judy blinked, her mind clearly wandering between the present and the past. Denise stayed silent, waiting for her to go on.

“I remember we used to hike down by the river to collect blackberries. Your mother wouldn’t even wear shoes in those prickly things. She had the toughest feet I’d ever seen. She’d go the whole summer without wearing shoes, except when she had to go to church. Her feet would be so dirty by September that her mother couldn’t get the stains out unless she used a Brillo pad and Ajax. When school started up again, your mother would limp for the first couple of days. I never figured out whether it was because of the Brillo pad or simply the fact that she wasn’t used to wearing shoes.”

Denise laughed in disbelief. This was a side of her mother she’d never even heard about. Judy continued.

“I used to live right down the road from here. Do you know the Boyle place? That white house with the green shutters-big red barn out back?”

Denise nodded. She passed by it on the way into town.

“Well, that was where I lived when I was little. Your mom and I were the only two girls who lived out this way, so we ended up doing practically everything together. We were the same age, too, so we studied the same things at school. This was in the forties, and back then everyone sat in the same classroom until the eighth grade, but they still tried to group us together with people the same age. Your mother and I sat next to each other in school the whole way through. She was probably the best friend I ever had.”

Staring toward the distant trees, Judy seemed lost in the throes of nostalgia.

“Why didn’t she keep in touch after she moved?” Denise began. “I mean . . .”

She paused, wondering how to ask what she really meant, and Judy cast her a sidelong glance.

“You mean why, if we were such good friends, didn’t she tell you about it?”

Denise nodded, and Judy collected her thoughts.

“I guess it mainly had to do with her moving away. It took me a long time to understand that distance can ruin even the best of intentions.”

“That’s sad. . . .”

“Not really. I suppose it depends on how you look at it. For me . . . well, it just adds a richness you wouldn’t otherwise get. People come, people go-they’ll drift in and out of your life, almost like characters in a favorite book. When you finally close the cover, the characters have told their story and you start up again with another book, complete with new characters and adventures. Then you find yourself focusing on the new ones, not the ones from the past.”

It took a moment for Denise to respond as she remembered the friends she’d left in Atlanta.

“That’s pretty philosophical,” she finally said.

“I’m old. What did you expect?”

Denise set her glass of tea on the table and absently wiped the moisture from the sweating glass on her shorts. “So you never talked to her again? After she left?”

“Oh no-we kept in touch for a few years, but back then your mother was in love, and when women fall in love, it’s all they can think about. That was why she left Edenton in the first place. A boy-Michael Cunningham. Did she ever tell you about him?”

Denise shook her head, fascinated.

“I’m not surprised. Michael was kind of a bad boy, not exactly the kind of guy you want to remember way longer than you have to. He didn’t have the greatest reputation, if you know what I mean, but a lot of girls found him attractive. I guess they thought him exciting and dangerous. Same old story, even today. Well, your mother followed him to Atlanta right after she graduated.”

“But she told me she moved to Atlanta to go to college.”

“Oh, that may have been somewhere in the back of her mind, but the real reason was Michael. He had some kind of hold on her, that’s for sure. He was also the reason she didn’t come back here to visit.”

“How so?”

“Well, her mom and dad-your grandparents-they just couldn’t forgive her for running off that way. They saw Michael for what he was and said that if she didn’t come home right away, she wasn’t welcome here anymore. They were from the old school, as stubborn as can be, and your mom was just the same. It was like a couple of bulls staring at each other, waiting for the other one to give in. But neither of them ever did, even after Michael went by the wayside for someone else.”

“My father?”

Judy shook her head. “No . . . someone else-your father came along after I lost contact with her.”

“So you didn’t know him at all?”

“No. But I do remember your grandparents heading off to the wedding and being a little hurt that your mother hadn’t sent me an invitation. Not that I could have gone, of course. I was married by then, and like a lot of young couples, my husband and I were struggling financially, and with the new baby-well, it just would have been impossible to make it.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

Judy set her glass of tea on the table. “Nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t you, and in some way, it wasn’t even your mom anymore-or at least the one I used to know. Your father came from a very respectable family in Atlanta, and by that point in her life, I think your mom was a little embarrassed about where she’d come from. Not that your father minded, obviously, since he married her. But I remember that your grandparents didn’t say much after they returned from the wedding. I think they were a little embarrassed, too, even though they shouldn’t have been. They were great people, but I think they knew they didn’t fit into their daughter’s world anymore, even after your father passed away.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It’s sad, but like I said, it went both ways. They were stubborn, your mom was stubborn. And little by little, they sort of drifted apart.”

“I knew Mom wasn’t close to her parents, but she never told me any of this.”

“No, I wouldn’t expect that she did. But please don’t think poorly of your mother. I certainly don’t. She was always so full of life, so passionate-she was exciting to be around. And she had the heart of an angel, she really did. She was as sweet a person as I ever knew.”