Nicholas Sparks - Safe Haven

From a distance, neither of the cottages appeared occupied. Hell, neither one looked habitable. It was nothing like their house in Dorchester, with its shutters and corbels and red front door. On the cottage closest to him, the paint was peeling and the planks were rotting in the corners. Moving forward, he watched the windows, looking for signs of movement. There was nothing.

He didn’t know which cottage was hers. He stopped to study them closely. Both were bad, but one looked practically abandoned. He moved toward the better one, angling away from the window.

It had taken thirty minutes to get here from the store. Once he surprised Erin, he knew she’d try to get away. She wouldn’t want to go with him. She would try to get away, might even try to fight, and he would tie her up and tape her mouth shut and then go get the car. Once he returned with the car, he would put her in the trunk until they were far away from this town.

He reached the side of the house and flattened himself against it, staying away from the window. He listened for movement, the sound of opening doors or water running or dishes clattering, but heard nothing.

His head still hurt and he was thirsty. The heat poured down and his shirt was wet. He was breathing too fast but he was so close to Erin now and he thought again how she’d left him and hadn’t cared that he’d cried. She’d laughed behind his back. Her and the man, whoever he was. He knew there had to be a man. She couldn’t make it on her own.

He peeked around the back of the house and saw nothing. He crept forward, watching. Ahead, there was a small window and he took a chance and looked in. No lights on, but it was clean and tidy, with a dish towel draped over the kitchen sink. Just like Erin used to do. He silently approached the door and turned the knob. Unlocked.

Holding his breath, he opened the door and stepped inside, pausing again to listen and hearing nothing. He crossed the kitchen and entered the living room — then the bedroom and bathroom. He cursed aloud, knowing she wasn’t home.

Assuming he was in the right home, of course. In the bedroom, he spied the chest of drawers and pulled the top one open. Finding a stack of her panties, he sifted through them, rubbed them between his thumb and forefinger, but it had been so long, he wasn’t sure he could remember if they were the ones she had back home. The other clothes he didn’t recognize, but they were her size.

He recognized the shampoo and conditioner, he recognized the brand of toothpaste. In the kitchen, he rifled through the drawers, opening them one by one until he found a utility bill. It was listed in the name of Katie Feldman, and now he leaned against the cupboard, staring at the name and feeling a sense of completion.

The only problem was that she wasn’t here, and he didn’t know when she would return. He knew he couldn’t leave his car at the store indefinitely, but all at once, he was just so tired. He wanted to sleep, needed to sleep. He’d driven all night and his head was pounding. Instinctively, he wandered back to her bedroom. She’d made the bed, and when he peeled back the cover, he could smell her scent in the sheets. He crawled into the bed, breathing deeply, breathing her in. He felt the tears flood his eyes as he realized how much he missed her and loved her and that they could have been happy if she hadn’t been so selfish.

He couldn’t stay awake and he told himself that he would sleep for just a little while. Not long. Just enough so that when he came back later in the evening, his mind would be sharp and he wouldn’t make mistakes and he and Erin could be husband and wife once more.

Alex, Katie, and the kids rode their bikes to the carnival because parking downtown was almost impossible. Trying to get home, once cars started pulling out, would be even worse.

Booths displaying arts and crafts lined either side of the street, and the air was thick with the scent of hot dogs and burgers, popcorn and cotton candy. On the main stage, a local band was playing “Little Deuce Coupe” by the Beach Boys. There were sack races and a banner promising a watermelon-eating contest later in the afternoon. Games of chance, too — throwing darts at balloons, tossing rings around bottles, sinking three shots with a basketball to win a stuffed animal. The Ferris wheel at the far end of the park towered above all of it, drawing families like a beacon.

Alex stood in line to buy tickets while Katie followed behind with the kids, heading toward the bumper cars and tilt-a-whirl. Long lines were everywhere. Mothers and fathers clung to the hands of children, and teens clustered in groups. The air sounded with the roar of generators and clacking noises as the rides went round and round.

The world’s tallest horse could be viewed for a dollar. Another dollar bought admission to the tent next door, which housed the smallest horse. Ponies, walking in circles and tethered to a wheel, were hot and tired, their heads hanging low.

The kids were antsy and wanted to ride everything, so Alex purchased a small fortune in tickets. The tickets went fast, because most of the rides required three or four. The cumulative cost was ridiculous, and Alex tried to make them last by insisting they do other things as well.

They watched a man juggle bowling pins and cheered for a dog that could walk across a tightrope. They had pizza for lunch at one of the local restaurants, eating inside to escape the heat, and listened to a country-western band play a number of songs. Afterward, they watched people racing jet skis in the Cape Fear River before heading back to the rides. Kristen wanted cotton candy and Josh got a press-on tattoo.

And so the hours passed, in a blur of heat and noise and small-town pleasures.

Kevin woke two hours later, his body slick with sweat, his stomach knotted with cramps. His heat-induced dreams had been vivid and colorful, and it was hard to remember where he was. His head felt like it was splitting in two. He staggered from the bedroom and into the kitchen, slaking his thirst directly from the tap. He was dizzy and weak and felt more tired than when he lay down in the first place.

But he couldn’t linger. He shouldn’t have slept at all, and he went to the bedroom and remade the bed so that she wouldn’t know he’d been there. He was about to leave when he remembered the tuna casserole he’d spied in her refrigerator earlier, when he’d searched her kitchen. He was ravenous, and he remembered that she hadn’t cooked him dinner in months.

It had to be close to a hundred degrees in this airless shack, and when he opened the refrigerator, he stood for a long minute in the cool air as it spilled out. He grabbed the tuna casserole and rummaged through the drawers until he found a fork. After peeling back the plastic wrap, he took a bite and then a second one. Eating did nothing for the pain in his head but his stomach felt better and the cramps began to subside. He could have eaten all of the casserole, but he forced himself to take just one more bite before putting it back in the refrigerator. She couldn’t know that he’d been here.

He rinsed the fork, dried it, and put it back in the drawer. He straightened the towel and checked the bed again, making sure it looked the way it had when he entered.

Satisfied, he left the house and headed up the gravel road, toward the store.

The roof of the car was scalding to the touch and when he opened the door, it felt like a furnace. No one was in the parking lot. Too hot to be outside. Sweltering, without a cloud or hint of breeze. Who in God’s name would want to live in a place like this?

In the store, he grabbed a bottle of water and drank it while standing near the coolers. He paid for the empty container and the old woman threw it out. She asked him if he enjoyed the carnival. He told the nosy old woman that he had.