Nicholas Sparks - The Rescue

Taylor raised his hand. “Scouts’ honor. I’ll pick him up at five, and by the end of the night, he’ll be eating hot dogs and peanuts and singing ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game.’ ”

She nudged him in the ribs. “Yeah, sure.”

“Well, maybe you’re right. But it won’t be for lack of trying.”

Denise rested her head against his shoulder. He smelled like salt and wind.

“You’re a good guy, Taylor.”

“I try.”

“No, I’m serious. You’ve really made me feel special these last couple of months.”

“So have you.”

For a long moment, silence filled the living room like a living presence. She could feel Taylor’s chest rising and falling with every breath. As wonderful as he’d been tonight, she couldn’t escape the concerns that had been troubling her for the past two weeks.

“Do you ever think about the future, Taylor?”

He cleared his throat before answering.

“Sure, sometimes. Usually it doesn’t go much beyond the next meal, though.”

She took his hand in hers, weaving their fingers together.

“Do you ever think about us? About where we’re going with all this, I mean?”

Taylor didn’t respond, and Denise went on.

“I’ve just been thinking that we’ve been seeing each other for a few months now, but sometimes I don’t know where you stand on all this. I mean, these last couple of weeks . . . I don’t know . . . sometimes it feels like you’re pulling away. You’ve been working such long hours that we haven’t had much time to spend together, and then when you didn’t call . . .”

She trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken, knowing she’d already said these things before. She felt his body stiffen just a little as she heard his answer coming out in a hoarse whisper.

“I care about you, Denise, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She blinked, keeping her eyes closed for a long moment before opening them again.

“No, that’s not it . . . or not all of it. I guess I just want to know if you’re serious about us.”

He pulled her closer, running his hand through her hair.

“Of course I’m serious. But like I said, my vision of the future doesn’t extend all that far. I’m not the brightest guy you’ve ever met.”

He smiled at his own joke. Hinting wasn’t going to suffice. Denise took a deep breath.

“Well, when you think about the future, are Kyle and I in it?” she asked point-blank.

It was quiet in the living room as she waited for his answer. Licking her lips, she realized her mouth had gone dry. Eventually she heard him sigh.

“I can’t predict the future, Denise. No one can. But like I said, I care about you and I care about Kyle. Isn’t that enough for now?”

Needless to say, it wasn’t the answer she had hoped for, but she lifted her head from his shoulder and met his eyes.

“Yeah,” she lied. “That’s enough for now.”

Later that night, after making love and falling asleep together, Denise woke and saw Taylor standing by the window, looking toward the trees but obviously thinking of something else. She watched him for a long time, before he finally crawled back into bed. As he tugged at the sheet, Denise turned toward him.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

Taylor seemed surprised at the sound of her voice. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No. I’ve been awake for a while now. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Are you worried about something?”

“No.”

“Then why can’t you sleep?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it something I did?”

He drew a long breath. “No. There’s nothing wrong with you at all.”

With that, he cuddled against her, pulling her close.

The following morning, Denise woke alone.

This time Taylor wasn’t sleeping on the couch. This time he didn’t surprise her with breakfast. He’d slipped out unnoticed, and calls to his house went unanswered. For a while Denise debated stopping by his work site later in the day, but the memory of her last visit kept her from doing so.

Instead she reviewed their evening, trying to get a better read on it. For every positive thing, there seemed to be something negative as well. Yes, he’d come by . . . but that may have been because his mother had said something to him. Yes, he’d been great with Kyle . . . but then he might be focusing on Kyle to avoid what was really bothering him. Yes, he’d told her he cared about her . . . but not enough to even think about the future? They’d made love . . . but he was gone first thing in the morning, without so much as a good-bye.

Analysis, debate, dissection . . . she hated reducing their relationship to that. It seemed so eighties, so grounded in psychobabble, a bunch of words and actions that might or might not mean anything. No, scratch that. They did mean something, and that’s exactly what the problem was.

Yet, deep down, she realized that Taylor wasn’t lying when he said he cared about her. If there was one thing that kept her going, that was it. But . . .

So many buts these days.

She shook her head, doing her best to put it all out of her mind, at least until she saw him again. He’d be by later to take her into work, and though she didn’t think there’d be time to talk to him about her feelings again, she felt sure that she would know more as soon as she saw him. Hopefully he’d come by a little early.

The rest of the morning and the afternoon passed slowly. Kyle was in one of his moods-not talking, grumpy, stubborn-and that didn’t help her own mood, but it did keep her from focusing all day on Taylor.

A little after five she thought she heard his truck on the road out front, but as soon as she stepped outside, she realized it wasn’t Taylor. Disappointed, she changed into her workclothes, made Kyle a grilled cheese sandwich, watched the news.

Time continued to pass. Six o’clock now. Where was he?

She turned off the television and tried unsuccessfully to get Kyle interested in a book. Then she got down on the floor and started playing with his Legos, but Kyle ignored her, focusing on his coloring book. When she tried to join him in that, he told her to go away. She sighed and decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

Instead she straightened up the kitchen, killing time. Not much to do there, so she folded a basket of laundry and put it away.

Six-thirty and still no sign of him. Concern was giving way to a sinking sensation in her gut.

He’s coming, she told herself. Isn’t he?

Against her better judgment she dialed his number, but there was no answer. She went back into the kitchen, got a glass of water, then returned to the living room window. Looking out, she waited.

And waited.

Fifteen minutes to get there or she’d be late.

Then ten.

At five until seven she was holding her glass so hard that her knuckles had turned white. Loosening her grip, she felt the blood rush back into her fingers. Her lips were pressed together when seven o’clock rolled around and she called Ray, apologizing and telling him she’d be a little late.

“We’ve got to go, Kyle,” she said after hanging up the phone. “We’re going to ride our bikes.”

“No,” he said.

“I’m not asking, Kyle, I’m telling you. Now move!”

Hearing the tone of her voice, Kyle put down his colors and started toward her.

Cursing, she went to the back porch to get her bike. Rolling it off the porch, she noticed it wasn’t gliding smoothly, and she jerked it before finally learning what the problem was.

A flat tire.

“Oh, c’mon . . . not tonight,” she said almost in disbelief. As if not trusting her eyes, she checked the tire with her finger, feeling it give as she applied only a little pressure.