Николас Спаркс - The Return

As I approached what I thought to be Callie’s trailer, I began to get a good feeling. There were no curtains in the windows, no toys in the yard, no flowerpots or wind chimes or engine parts, which were typical of the others. It looked like the kind of place a girl would live who had barely enough money to pay her bills and hadn’t accumulated much of anything.

Peeking over my shoulder, I noticed the man who’d stepped outside earlier was gone, probably back inside. I hoped he wasn’t watching as I sidled toward one of the windows and peered inside, taking in a small, functional, and exceedingly clean kitchen. There were no dishes or silverware in the sink or on the counters, nor any spills on the floor. In one of the corners, I saw jars of peanut butter and jelly lined up neatly next to a loaf of bread.

I scooted to another window and peered in, noting a couch futon and a pair of small mismatching tables, maybe the ones that Claude had given her. There was a lamp, too, but otherwise it was about as spartan as a place could get.

I paced around the trailer, searching for more windows, but there weren’t any. On a whim, I tried the doorknob and was surprised when it turned in my hand. When she’d left for work, Callie hadn’t locked the door. Then again, there didn’t seem to be much worth stealing.

I hesitated. It was one thing to peek in her windows; it was another thing to enter her home. I reminded myself that Callie had broken into my grandfather’s house and that I still needed answers, so I pushed open the door and entered.

It didn’t take long to go through the trailer. There was no chest of drawers; instead, she had stacked her folded clothes against a wall. In the closet, I found a few blouses and pants on hangers, and two pairs of shoes. A worn University of Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt sat on the top shelf, but most everything else looked like thrift store finds.

There were no photographs, diaries, or journals, though on the wall in the kitchen, I noted a hanging calendar featuring picturesque Georgia sites, including Tallulah Gorge and Raven Cliff Falls, with her work schedule neatly outlined, and a few dates throughout the year marked in red marker. M’s birthday in June, R’s birthday in August, T and H’s birthday in October, and D’s birthday in December. The first initial of someone she knew, but nothing that would tell me anything more than that.

But it made me wonder…

Why, unless she was fond of or drawn to Georgia, would she have purchased this particular calendar? Or have a Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt separated from her other clothing?

I rifled through the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen, then did the same in the bathroom. Again, the stark absence of belongings yielded few clues. I looked for a phone, hoping for an answering machine, but there was none.

I have no idea how long I was in the house, and I gazed warily through the kitchen window in the direction of where I’d spotted the old man earlier. I didn’t want him to see me leaving, but luckily he hadn’t reappeared.

I exited the front door quickly, hoping to make a clean getaway, but instantly registered the maroon car emblazoned with the word SHERIFF across the doors. I felt my stomach drop.

A moment later, it dropped even further when I spotted Natalie emerging from the car, and for a long time, all I could do was stare at her.

Chapter 16

If I was stunned to see her, she seemed equally taken aback. When she finally stepped out from behind the open car door, I was reminded of how she looked the first time I’d ever met her. As I stood before her, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Trevor?” she ventured, closing the door.

“Natalie,” I said, finding my voice.

“What are you doing here? I got a call about a possible burglary in progress.”

The old man. “You mean this?” I waved at Callie’s trailer. “I didn’t take anything.”

“Did you just break into someone’s house? I saw you walking out.”

“The door was unlocked.”

“And you went inside?”

“It’s good to see you, by the way.”

“This is not a social call.”

“I know.” I sighed. “I guess I should explain what I was doing.”

Over her shoulder, I spotted the older man stepping out onto the porch. Part of me wanted to thank him for being so conscientious.

“Well?” she asked.

“The girl who lives here is named Callie. She’s in the hospital right now. So I came by to check on some things.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” She frowned. “What kind of things were you checking?”

“I’m trying to help her and it was the only thing I could think to do.”

“Are you being purposely evasive?”

Behind her, the old man had climbed down from his porch and was inching closer, no doubt as curious as Natalie was.

“Is there someplace we can speak in private?”

For the first time, her gaze faltered.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. First, I need to understand what’s going on here.”

Clearly she anticipated that in addition to explaining about Callie, I’d try to speak with her about the way we’d said goodbye. Which was exactly what I intended, if given the chance.

“I’ve told you what I’m doing. There’s a girl in the hospital and she needs my help. I came here to do just that.”

“How can you help her if she doesn’t know you’re here?”

“Please,” I said. “I don’t want to speak in front of an audience.” I nodded at the neighbor, who now stood only several feet away.

“Did you remove anything from the premises?”

“No.”

“Damage anything?”

“No,” I insisted. “Feel free to go inside and check. The door’s unlocked.”

“It’s still trespassing,” she pointed out.

“I highly doubt that she’ll press charges.”

“Is that so?”

I moved closer, keeping my voice low. “She was the one who broke into my grandfather’s house. She also stole my grandmother’s social security number. And she’s very sick. Having to deal with a sheriff is probably the last thing she wants.”

“You know I’m going to have to speak with her about this, don’t you?”

“Good luck,” I said. “She may not speak to you at all.”

“And why is that?”

By then, the older man was nearly within hearing distance. Another neighbor, too, had appeared and was heading our way. When I saw a third door open and yet another woman emerge, I leaned in.

“Please,” I pleaded. “It’s no one else’s business. I’m saying this for Callie’s sake, not mine.”

“I can’t just let you walk away. People saw you trespassing.”

“Then put me in your car. You can bring me to mine.”

“Where’s yours?”

“Up the road. You can’t miss it. I think the folks around here would be happier if I got in. Like I was in trouble.”

“You are in trouble.”

“I don’t think so.” When she didn’t respond, I turned toward her car, noting that all three neighbors had congregated a short distance away and were casting wary glances at me. “If you’d like, we can speak at the station.”

I walked past her and slid into the back seat of the cruiser before Natalie could stop me. For a few seconds, she continued to stand outside the car before finally approaching the gathered neighbors. I watched as the old man began motioning toward me, clearly exercised. Natalie nodded, saying little as the man went on, and after a few minutes, she returned to the car and got in.

As Natalie started the engine and pulled onto the main road, her eyes flashed to the rearview mirror. I could see her irritation at being put in a situation she clearly wished she could have avoided. “Which way to your vehicle?”