Николас Спаркс - The Return

My grandfather found her on the kitchen floor on a Saturday, after he’d spent an afternoon building additional hives. He took her lifeless body in his arms and held her. He cried for more than an hour before finally calling the authorities. He was so destroyed that for the first time ever, my mom took a monthlong leave of absence from her practice and came down to stay with him. He spent part of the following year carving her headstone himself, and up until our last phone call, I knew he continued to visit her grave every single week.

There was Rose and only Rose; he’d always sworn no one could ever replace her. There was no reason to doubt him and I never did. Toward the end, my grandfather was more than ninety years old, with arthritis and a dying truck; he led a simple life that included tending to honey bees and tinkering with the boat, all the while cherishing the memories of a wife that he could never forget.

I turned all these things over in my mind while my thoughts circled back to my conversation with Jim. I tried to reconcile Jim’s comments with the grandfather I’d known but simply couldn’t do it. Despite what I’d been told, I knew with sudden certainty that my grandfather had never, nor would have ever, gone to South Carolina to visit a woman named Helen.

* * *

I continued upstream, motoring from one curve to the next, eventually reaching the public boat ramp in the Croatan National Forest. Interesting tidbit about the forest: It’s one of the few places in the world where you can find Venus flytraps and other carnivorous plants growing in the wild. My grandfather used to bring me out to search for them. Somehow, despite constant poaching, they’re still relatively common.

The boat ramp was one of the reference points I’d overheard at the Trading Post. Supposedly, the eagles and alligators were a couple of curves farther upstream, but for all I knew, it might be zero or ten curves. The guy’s description had been a little vague, so I slowed the boat and scanned the trees on either side of the creek. The problem, I soon realized, was that I had no idea what I was supposed to look for.

Technology, however, is a wonderful thing. Pulling out my phone, I did a quick internet search and was able to find images of bald eagles’ nests. To my eye, they looked like regular birds’ nests, only much larger, which made me feel foolish for not assuming that in the first place. In the end, I finally spotted it high in the branches of a cypress tree, a feat made even simpler by the fact that mama or papa eagle was sitting in the nest, while the mate perched in the limbs of a nearby tree.

It wasn’t two bends in the river past the boat ramp, by the way, but four.

I stopped the boat and scanned the banks for the alligators but had less luck there. I did note a cleared and muddy spot with some telltale burrows, however. Having lived in Florida, I’d seen them before. Unfortunately, no alligators were around, but alligators were territorial, which meant it was likely that they’d return.

In the meantime, my gaze was drawn toward the bald eagles and I snapped some pics with my phone. With brown bodies and white heads, they looked just like the one on the Great Seal of the United States, my first sighting of them in the wild. It soon became rather boring, though. Aside from occasionally turning their heads, they didn’t move much, and after a while, they were no more exciting to watch than the trees. I wondered if there were eggs in the nest, but I soon noticed a pair of baby eaglets. Every now and then, one or both of the little ones would poke up their heads and I had the urge to tell someone about it. Reaching for my phone again, I typed out a quick message to Natalie.

Do you have time to chat later?

Again, I found myself watching the phone to see if she’d read it; to my surprise, her response came quickly:

I’ll probably have some time around 8.

I smiled, thinking that things with Natalie were getting interesting. It wasn’t exactly my grandfather and Rose, but definitely interesting.

* * *

There was still no word from the ambulance companies, but I figured that I’d give them until Monday before I contacted them again. Despite that, the rest of my afternoon was productive, if you consider taking a long nap after a leisurely boat ride productive.

For dinner, I decided to eat at Morgan’s Tavern. Located downtown, it was my kind of place: wood floors, lots of rustic brick, high-beamed ceilings, and an extensive menu. It was bustling, so I ended up sitting at one of the tables in the bar, but the service was quick and the food was tasty. A good place to kill time until I called Natalie.

Not wanting to be too punctual, I dialed seven minutes after the hour. Perhaps not wanting to appear too eager, Natalie answered on the fourth ring. Oh, the silly games people play…

“Hey there,” I said. “How was work?”

“Fine, but I’m glad I’m on days for the next few weeks. It’s hard for me to sleep when the sun is shining. My body just doesn’t like it.”

“You should do a residency. Then you never have to sleep at all.”

She giggled. “What’s going on?”

“You’ll never guess where I went today,” I said.

“You called because you want me to guess?”

“No,” I said. “I went out on the creek today.”

“On your grandfather’s boat?”

“I prefer to think of it as a yacht.”

“Ah,” she said, amusement in her voice. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I was hunting for alligators.”

“Don’t tell me you found one.”

“I didn’t, but I’m pretty sure I know where to find them. I was thinking we might try to find them on Saturday. We could take the boat out, maybe follow that up with dinner at my place. How does that sound?”

A second of silence on the line. Then: “Won’t it be crowded on the water this weekend?”

Your grandfather’s boat draws way too much interest from others , she didn’t have to add, and I’d prefer that no one else know I’m spending time with you .

“Not where we’d be going. We’ll be heading up the creek, probably in late afternoon. It’s usually pretty quiet. And afterward, we’d eat at my place. I can grill a mean steak.”

“I don’t eat red meat.”

Natalie, I was beginning to learn, seldom offered a simple yes or no, but I was growing used to it. “I can grill seafood if you’d prefer,” I suggested. “Seafood’s okay, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then how about coming by around four thirty? We’ll spend a couple of hours on the boat, head back, fire up the grill. Maybe open a bottle of wine. And I promise that even if we don’t find the alligators, you’ll see something pretty amazing.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise. What do you think?”

“Four thirty?”

“We could go earlier, but I wouldn’t go later or we’ll lose the daylight when we’re on the water.”

In the silence that followed, I tried and failed to imagine her as she was speaking. Where was she? In her kitchen? The family room? Her bedroom? Finally, I heard her voice again. “All right,” she said, still sounding hesitant. “I guess I should drive to your place?”

“If you’d rather, I could pick you up.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said.

Because you don’t want me to know where you live? “Great,” I said, ignoring that internal query. “A couple of questions…are you okay with tuna?”

“That’s fine.”

“And my odds that you show are better than fifty-fifty this time?”

“Ha ha,” she said. “I’ll be there at four thirty.”

Maybe I was just imagining it, but I think there was a little part of her that was flattered by my persistence. “Good night, Trevor.”