Николас Спаркс - The Return

“Are you sure it’s not too far out of the way?”

“Not at all. I’m looking forward to visiting your grandfather’s place. You’ve painted quite a picture for me.”

I smiled, thinking that even if I had, I still hadn’t done it justice.

“I’ll see you next week, Doc. Do you need directions?”

“I’m sure I’ll be able find it. Take care.”

* * *

Two hours later, my cell phone rang. Though I didn’t recognize the number, the area code was from upstate South Carolina. The hospital administrator?

“Trevor Benson,” I answered.

“Hi. This is Thomas King from Baptist Easley Hospital. I received your message, but I wasn’t exactly sure what information you needed.”

Unlike the receptionist, his accent wasn’t nearly as thick or hard to understand.

“Thank you for returning my call,” I started, before laying out the situation. When I finished, he asked me to hold for a moment.

It was way longer than a moment. I listened to Muzak for at least five minutes before I heard the phone click through to him.

“I apologize that it took so long, but I had to find out who to ask, and then find the information you needed. We generally use two ambulance services,” he explained before giving me their names. As I wrote them down, he went on.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have the particulars regarding your grandfather. I suppose your best bet is to call the ambulance services. Perhaps they’ll have the information you need. I’m sure they’re required to keep records.”

It was just as Natalie had suggested. “I appreciate your help,” I said. “This is more than helpful.”

“You’re welcome. And my condolences for the passing of your grandfather.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I hung up, thinking that I’d call the ambulance companies in the morning. I wished I had thought about it when my grandfather had been in the hospital; after nearly half a year, who knew how long it might take them to find the answers I needed.

My thoughts turned to Natalie. Since my call with Bowen, images of her kept resurfacing in my mind; I saw her expression of wonder as she watched the bee crawl over her finger, the sensuous swirling of her dress outlining her long legs and the graceful lines of her body as she stepped out of her car in Beaufort. I recalled both our heartfelt discussion and the easy banter between us, and I puzzled over the flash of sadness I thought I’d sensed toward the end of our dinner. I thought about the energy between us and knew exactly why I’d called her by her name when speaking with Bowen.

As much as I’d tried to downplay it with Dr. Bowen, I knew with certainty that I wanted to see her again, sooner rather than later.

* * *

After I’d had dinner, I resolved to finally get some reading done on the back porch. But figuring that Natalie would have finished her shift some time ago, I found myself reaching for my cell phone. I debated calling but decided against it. Instead, I typed out a quick text.

I was just thinking about you and hope you had a good day.

Are you free for dinner this weekend?

Though I should have set my phone aside, I waited to see if she was near enough to her phone to read the text right away. Sure enough, I saw the indication that she’d read the text and assumed she would write something back. Instead, there was no response at all.

For the rest of the evening, I continued to check my phone. Childish. Compulsive. Maybe immature. At times, I can be all those things. Like Bowen says, we’re all works in progress.

Finally, just as I was getting ready to turn in for the night, I heard the telltale ding of my cell phone.

Thanks. Typical day. Nothing special.

I stared at the screen, thinking it didn’t exactly proclaim an undeniable passion and attraction toward me, especially since she hadn’t addressed my invitation at all.

I put the phone on the bedside table, feeling…confused? hurt?—before reaching for the lamp. I shook those feelings aside, knowing it was way too early to feel either of those things. Besides, if she hadn’t wanted to speak with me again, she wouldn’t have answered at all. Right?

I turned out the light, then adjusted the covers, when I heard my cell phone suddenly ding again. I reached for the phone.

I’ll think about it.

Not a yes, but not a no, either. I continued to stare at the screen until it vibrated again with another message from her.

:-)

I smiled. Clasping my hands behind my head, I stared at the ceiling, more curious about her than ever.

Chapter 8

I didn’t hear from Natalie on Tuesday, which disappointed me, but my offer was out there. I knew she was working and busy, and I had things to do as well. Well, sort of. But I didn’t text her. It wasn’t as though I was thinking about her all the time. Just…too much for my own good.

I also spoke to both ambulance companies. As with the hospital, it took a couple of transfers before I was able to reach someone who could help. Yes, I was told, there were records of pickup locations for patients who had been transported to the hospital; no, I was told, they didn’t have that information readily available. It would take them a few days to find it, maybe until the end of the week, and if I didn’t hear from them to call again.

Hurry up and wait.

Just like so many other things in life.

* * *

Hoping for a chance to speak with Claude’s father, I decided to visit the Trading Post for lunch. Pulling up, I spotted a bin offering bags of ice, firewood for sale, propane tank refills, an air compressor to fill tires, and an old-fashioned vending machine, which seemed redundant since people could purchase sodas inside. Unfortunately, there was no one out front in the rockers.

Inside, Claude was back at his usual spot behind the register and he raised a hand in greeting as I headed toward the grill. As usual, all the tables were occupied, so I found myself at the counter. A massive man—at least a head taller than me and twice as wide—nodded toward me before handing me a small bowl of boiled peanuts. I assumed this was Frank, the regular grill man. Unlike Claude, he said nothing. Not much of a chatter, which was fine with me.

In honor of my grandfather, I ordered a BLT with fries and a pickle. Behind me, I overheard two guys at one of the tables talking about their fishing trip the weekend before, lamenting their lack of luck, and debating better places to try the following weekend. I peeked over my shoulder. Both were wearing baseball caps; one had the sinewy arms associated with construction, while the other wore a uniform of one of the propane distributors. When one of them mentioned that he’d spotted an alligator recently, my ears perked up.

“Four of ’em actually,” he went on. “Sunnin’ right there on the bank between the trees.”

“Big ones?” his friend asked.

“Nah. Juveniles, probably.”

“Where?”

“You know where the boat launch is? A couple of bends in the river after that, on your right. You remember the bald eagle’s nest in the cypress tree? Right around there.”

“What eagle’s nest?”

“Same nest as last year.”

“I didn’t see it last year.”

“That’s because you never take the time to look around.”

“I’m fishing,” he answered, “not sightseeing.”

“You try the quarry? I’ve had some luck with bass there lately…”

The conversation returned to fishing again and I found myself tuning out. I was, however, interested in the alligators and the bald eagles and wondered if Natalie might want to join me.

By then, my meal was ready, and Frank placed the plate in front of me. I took a bite, confirming that it never tasted as good anywhere else. I finished the sandwich and the pickle, but had only a few of the fries. I could feel my arteries hardening as I sampled them, but my taste buds were happy.