Николас Спаркс - The Return

“How long were you together?”

“A little more than two years. But you have to remember, I was gone a lot of the time. By the end, I wondered how well we even knew each other. After we broke up, it took me a while to understand that I missed the idea of having someone, as opposed to missing her. I knew I never loved her the way my grandfather loved my grandmother, or even the way my parents loved each other. My grandfather was a true romantic; my parents were partners and friends and they complemented each other perfectly. I didn’t feel either of those things with Sandra. I don’t know. Maybe I just wasn’t ready.”

“Or maybe she wasn’t the one.”

“Maybe.”

“Anyone else? When you were younger maybe?”

For whatever reason, my mind flashed to Yoga Girl, but I shook my head. “I went out with girls in high school and college, but nothing monumental. After my parents died, while in medical school and residency, I told myself that I was too busy for anything serious.”

“You probably were.”

I smiled, appreciating the response, even if we both knew it was an excuse. “How about you? You said that you’ve been in love? Are you more the romantic type, or the partner-and-friends type?”

“Both,” she said. “I wanted it all.”

“Did you get it?”

“Yes,” she said. She held up her bottle, still half-full. “What should I do with this?”

“I’ll take it,” I said, reaching for her bottle. I rose from my seat, emptied the remains into the creek, and put the empty beside my own in the wastebasket. On my way back, I gestured at the cooler. “Would you like another?”

“Do you have bottled water?”

“Of course. I came prepared.” I handed a water bottle to her before settling in my chair again. We continued to chat while we picked at the snacks, avoiding anything too personal. Our earlier discussion about love seemed to have butted up against some sort of internal personal limit of hers, so we talked about the town, the gun range where Natalie liked to shoot, and some of the more complicated surgeries I’d performed in the past. Eventually she was able to get photos of the eaglets and texted the images to me, something I realized only when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and checked the screen.

As we floated in place, a thin layer of clouds had begun to form, turning the sun from yellow to orange, and when the sky began shading toward violet, I knew it was time to start back.

I raised the anchor and started the motor, Natalie covering the snack tray before joining me in the cockpit. I drove faster on the return, making for a shorter trip, but was still amazed at how quickly time had passed. By the time I’d tied up the boat, dusk was settling in, the sky a brilliant palette, and crickets had begun to chirp. I helped Natalie to the dock, then handed the smaller cooler to her. Balancing the platter on the larger cooler, I walked beside her toward the back porch.

Once on the porch, I lifted the cooler lid. “Would you like another bottle of water?” I asked.

“Do you have any wine?”

“Would you like red or white?”

“White.”

Heading inside, I pulled the wine from the refrigerator and located a corkscrew. Pouring two glasses, I returned to the porch. She was standing near the railing, watching the sunset.

“Here you go,” I said, handing her a glass. “Sauvignon blanc.”

“Thank you.”

We took a sip in tandem, taking in the view.

“I called the hospital, as you suggested,” I said. “About my grandfather.”

“And?”

“You were right—it was a critical first step.” I went on, filling her in. She listened carefully, her eyes never leaving my face.

“Where do you think he was going? If it wasn’t Easley?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you don’t think he went to see Helen?”

“Unless he’d undergone a radical change, I just can’t imagine him being interested in another woman. Not at his age, not so far away, and definitely not with the way he still spoke about my grandmother.”

“He told me about her once,” Natalie mused. “He said she used to hum to herself in the kitchen when she was cooking and that sometimes, even now, he imagined he could still hear it.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“Last year, maybe? It was at the farmers’ market and I can’t remember how the subject even came up, but I recall thinking about that story when I got home. I could tell he still loved her.”

“That’s what I mean,” I agreed. “He was a one-woman man.”

She took another sip. “Do you believe in that? One woman for one man, for all time? The whole soul mate thing?”

“I guess it’s possible for some couples—like them or maybe even my parents—but it’s probably more the exception than the rule. I think most people fall in love more than once in their life.”

“And yet you’re unsure whether you’ve ever been in love.”

“It’s not fair to paraphrase my earlier statements back to me.”

She laughed. “So what are you going to do about your grandfather?”

“I’m thinking about driving down to Easley on Tuesday. I want to find out where he was picked up and try to locate his truck. Maybe it’ll help me figure things out.”

“That’s a long way to travel without much to go on,” she pointed out.

“It should only take a couple of days.”

As I spoke, I saw her shiver. She set her wineglass on the railing and rubbed her arms. “Sorry. I think I’m getting a little cold. Do you have a bathroom where I can change?”

“The bathrooms are tiny, so feel free to use one of the bedrooms if you’d rather. Are you hungry yet? Do you want me to get the grill going?”

She nodded. “I’m getting hungry, so that would be great. Do you think I could have a little more wine before I go in?”

“Of course.”

In the kitchen, I poured her more wine—she stopped me at half a glass—watching as she retrieved her bag from the family room and disappeared into the bedroom. Uncertain what she wanted for dinner—aside from the tuna—I’d dumped a lot of different options into the grocery cart earlier. There was not only a salad and green bean amandine, but rice pilaf and coleslaw as well. Lest anyone get too impressed, the rice pilaf came in a box with easy-to-prepare directions, and the coleslaw had come from the deli section of the grocery store. Sandra had taught me how to prepare green beans with olive oil, garlic, and slivers of almonds. I set the water boiling on the stove for the rice, scooped the coleslaw into a glass bowl and, along with the green salad and a bottle of dressing, brought all that to the table outside. I started the grill, added salt and pepper to the steak, and poured the rice and seasoning into the pot. After mixing soy sauce and wasabi for a dipping sauce for her tuna, I tossed the steak on the grill and returned to the kitchen for the green beans.

The steak, rice, and beans cooked quickly; I covered them with foil and placed them in the oven to keep warm, but there was still no sign of Natalie. Her tuna would take only a minute or two to sear, so I didn’t bother starting it yet. Instead, I moved a speaker out onto the porch, then used my iPhone to play some favorite tunes of mine from the eighties. I took a seat in the rocker, sipped the wine I’d poured earlier, and watched the moon as it rose, glowing just above the trees. It was one of those beautiful crescent-shaped ones—waxing or waning, but I wasn’t sure which. At some point in the past year I had downloaded an app that told you everything about the constellations and where to find them in the night sky; it occurred to me that I could fire it up and then try to later impress Natalie with my knowledge of astronomy.