Nicholas Sparks - Safe Haven

She hadn’t wanted to take the identification from the Feldmans’ files, hadn’t even considered the possibility until Gladys had pulled out the file to show her Katie’s graduation photo. She’d seen the birth certificate and the social security card next to the photo and recognized the opportunity they presented. The next time she’d gone to the house, she’d excused herself to go to the bathroom and had gone to the file cabinet instead. Later, as she ate blueberry pie with them in the kitchen, the documents felt like they were burning in her pockets. A week later, after making a copy of the birth certificate at the library and folding and wrinkling it to make it appear dated, she put the document in the file. She would have done the same with the social security card, but she couldn’t make a good enough copy and she hoped that if they noticed it was missing, they would believe it had been lost or misplaced.

She reminded herself that Kevin would never know what she’d done. He didn’t like the Feldmans and the feeling was mutual. She suspected that they knew he beat her. She could see it in their eyes as they watched her dart across the road to visit them, in the way they pretended never to notice the bruises on her arms, in the way their faces tightened whenever she mentioned Kevin. She wanted to think that they would have been okay with what she’d done, that they would have wanted her to take the identification, because they knew she needed it and wanted her to escape.

They were the only people she missed from Dorchester and she wondered how Larry was doing. They were her friends when she had no one else, and she wanted to tell Larry that she was sorry for his loss. She wanted to cry with him and talk about Gladys and to tell him that because of them, her life was better now. She wanted to tell him that she’d met a man who loved her, that she was happy for the first time in years.

But she would do none of those things. Instead, she simply stepped out onto the porch and, through eyes that were blurry with tears, watched the storm tear leaves from the trees.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Alex said. “Is everything okay?”

She’d made tuna casserole for dinner and Alex was helping her with the dishes. The kids were in the living room, both of them playing handheld computer games; she could hear the beeps and buzzes over the sound of the faucet.

“A friend of mine passed away,” she said. She handed him a plate to dry. “I knew it was coming, but it’s still sad.”

“It’s always sad,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.” He knew enough not to ask for further details. Instead, he waited on the chance she wanted to say more, but she washed another glass and changed the subject.

“How long do you think the storm is going to last?” she asked.

“Not long. Why?”

“I was just wondering whether the carnival tomorrow is going to be canceled. Or whether the flight is going to be canceled.”

Alex glanced out the window. “It should be fine. It’s already blowing through. I’m pretty sure we’re on the tail end of it now.”

“Just in time,” Katie remarked.

“Of course. The elements wouldn’t dare mess with the well-laid plans of the carnival committee. Or Joyce for that matter.”

She smiled. “How long is it going to take you to pick up Joyce’s daughter?”

“Probably four or five hours. Raleigh’s not exactly convenient to this place.”

“Why didn’t she fly into Wilmington? Or just rent a car?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask, but if I had to guess I’d say she wanted to save some money.”

“You’re doing a good thing, you know. Helping Joyce like that.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug, indicating that it wasn’t a big deal. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.”

“At the carnival or with the kids?”

“Both. And if you ask me nice, I’ll treat you to some deep-fried ice cream.”

“Fried ice cream? It sounds disgusting.”

“It’s actually tasty.”

“Is everything fried down here?”

“If it can be fried, believe me, someone will find a way. Last year, there was a place serving deep-fried butter.”

She almost gagged. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. It sounded terrible, but people were lining up to buy it. They might as well have been lining up for heart attacks.”

She washed and rinsed the last of the cups, then passed it to him. “Do you think the kids liked the dinner I made? Kristen didn’t eat very much.”

“Kristen never eats much. And more important, I liked it. I thought it was delicious.”

She shook her head. “Who cares about the kids, right? As long as you’re happy?”

“I’m sorry. I’m a narcissist at heart.”

She ran the soapy sponge over a plate and rinsed it. “I’m looking forward to spending some time at your house.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re always here, not there. Don’t get me wrong — I understand it was the right thing to do because of the kids.” And because of Carly , she also thought, but she didn’t mention that part. “It’ll give me the chance to see how you live.”

Alex took the plate. “You’ve been there before.”

“Yes, but not for more than a few minutes, and then only in the kitchen or living room. It’s not like I’ve had the chance to check out your bedroom or peek in your medicine cabinet.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” Alex feigned outrage.

“Maybe if I had the chance, I might.”

He dried the plate and put it in the cupboard. “Feel free to spend as much time in my bedroom as you like.”

She laughed. “You’re such a man.”

“I’m just saying that I wouldn’t mind. And feel free to peek in the medicine cabinet, too. I have no secrets.”

“So you say,” she teased. “You’re talking to someone who only has secrets.”

“Not from me.”

“No,” she agreed, her face serious. “Not from you.”

She washed two more plates and handed them to him, feeling a wave of contentment wash over her as she watched him dry and put them away.

He cleared his throat.

“Can I ask you something?” he said. “I don’t want you to take it the wrong way, but I’ve been curious.”

“Go ahead.”

He used the towel on his arms, dabbing at stray droplets, buying time. “I was wondering if you’d given more thought to what I said last weekend. In the parking lot, after seeing the rodeo monkeys?”

“You said a lot of things,” she said cautiously.

“Don’t you remember? You told me that Erin couldn’t get married, but I said that Katie probably could?”

Katie felt herself stiffen, less at the memory than at the serious tone he was using. She knew exactly where this was leading. “I remember,” she said with forced lightness. “I think I said I would have to meet the right guy.”

At her words, his lips tightened, as if he were debating whether to continue. “I just wanted to know if you thought about it. Us eventually getting married, I mean.”

The water was still warm as she started on the silverware. “You’d have to ask first.”

“But if I did?”

She found a fork and scrubbed it. “I suppose I’d tell you that I love you.”

“Would you say yes?”

She paused. “I don’t want to get married again.”

“You don’t want to, or you don’t think you can?”

“What’s the difference?” Her expression remained stubborn, closed. “You know I’m still married. Bigamy is illegal.”

“You’re not Erin anymore. You’re Katie. As you pointed out, your driver’s license proves it.”

“But I’m not Katie, either!” she snapped before turning toward him. “Don’t you get that? I stole that name from people I cared about! People who trusted me.” She stared at him, feeling the surge of tension from earlier in the day, recalling with fresh intensity Gladys’s kindness and pity, her escape, and the nightmarish years with Kevin. “Why can’t you just be happy with the way things are? Why do you have to push so hard for me to be the person you want me to be rather than the person that I am?”