Николас Спаркс - The Return

“To the left,” I said. “A couple hundred yards.”

“I should just bring you to the station.”

“Then how would I get my SUV?”

I heard her sigh. It took less than a minute for her to reach the spot where I’d parked. When I tried to get out, I realized that the door was locked. Natalie graciously stepped out and opened the door for me.

“Thank you,” I said.

“What’s going on?” she asked, crossing her arms. “I want the full story.”

“I’m thirsty,” I said. “Let’s go to my house.”

“Not a chance.”

“It’s getting warm out here and it’s going to take a while.”

“What’s the girl’s name again?”

“Callie.”

“I know that much,” she said. “What’s her last name?”

“That’s what I was trying to find out.”

* * *

Natalie followed me back to the house and turned up the drive, eventually coming to a stop beside me. I got out of the car first but waited for her and we approached the house together. I remembered doing the same thing after we’d visited the beehives and I felt a sudden stab of loss. We had been drawn to each other and fallen in love, only to have her end it. What had I done wrong? Why hadn’t she given us a chance?

I led the way inside to the kitchen, taking down two glasses from the cupboard and turning to her. “Tea or water?”

Her eyes flickered to the porch, which looked different than it had the night of our dinner. “Homemade sweet tea?”

“What else?”

“Yes, please.”

I filled our glasses, then added ice. Handing her a glass, I motioned at the porch.

“Can’t you just tell me what’s going on without making an event out of it?” she demanded, clearly exasperated.

“I just want to sit down,” I said. “Don’t make it into something that it isn’t.”

On the back porch and thankful for the shade, I waited for her to join me. After a few beats, she reluctantly took her place in the other rocker. “Well?” she asked. “This better be good.”

I related everything from the very beginning, finishing with the hospital and an attempt to locate Callie’s family by looking for clues in the trailer. Through it all, Natalie remained quiet but attentive.

“You really think she might die?”

“She will die,” I said. “Medicine and transfusions can help in the short run, but in her case, it will eventually be fatal. It’s actually the same disease that killed Eleanor Roosevelt.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“I didn’t want to get her in any trouble and for now, she has to remain in the hospital no matter what. Besides, if she won’t speak to the doctors, she probably won’t speak to the police, either.”

She considered that. “Did you find any clues in the house?”

“Not much,” I said. “Probably because of the fire, there wasn’t a lot there. I did find a Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt and a calendar with scenes of Georgia, though.”

“Do you think that’s where she’s from?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“That’s not much.”

“No,” I admitted. “It isn’t. And Georgia’s a big state. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

She squinted at me. “Why do you care so much?”

“I’m not just handsome and rich. I’m also a good guy.”

For the first time, Natalie cracked a wry smile. I remembered that smile and was struck by how much I’d missed it, how much I still wanted it to be part of my life. I think she knew what I was thinking because she turned away. Finally, she went on.

“Do you want me to try to talk to her?”

“I think it would make her clam up even more.”

“I could try for fingerprints.”

“Do you think that would help? If she’s never been arrested?”

“Probably not.”

“What should I do, then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’ll start talking when she starts feeling worse.”

“Maybe.” I hesitated before going on. “Can I ask you a question?”

She seemed to sense what was coming. “Trevor…please don’t.”

“I just want to know what happened between us. What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what was it?”

“It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I was scared,” she said in a low voice.

“Of me?”

“You. Me. Us.”

“What was so frightening?”

“All of it,” she said. Her gaze took in the creek, anguish etched in the lines of her face. “I loved every moment with you,” she admitted. “At the park, tending the beehives, our dinner in Beaufort. The boat ride and dinner here. Everything was…just the way I hoped it would be. It was perfect. But…”

She trailed off.

“But what?”

“You’re leaving,” she said. “Soon, right?”

“I told you that I didn’t have to move to Baltimore. I would have stayed. I can make other arrangements. It’s not a big deal.”

“But it is a big deal. It’s your next career. It’s Johns Hopkins and you can’t put that on hold for me.”

“You do realize I’m old enough to make my own decisions, right?”

Wearily, she stood from her chair and walked to the railing. After a moment, I rose and joined her. Across the river, cypress trees stretched their whitewashed trunks from the ancient waters. Her profile was as lovely as ever. I waited for her to say something, anything, but she continued to avoid my gaze.

“I know this is hard for you,” I said, “but if you put yourself in my situation, can you understand how baffling this feels to me?”

“I do understand. And I know I’m not really answering your questions, but please know how heartbreaking that is to me.”

As she spoke, I had the feeling that not only were we speaking entirely different languages, but that translation was impossible.

“Did you even love me, Natalie?”

“Yes,” she said, turning to look at me for the first time. Her voice was ragged. “I did. And I still do. Saying goodbye to you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

“If I meant so much to you, then why did it have to end?”

“Because sometimes, that’s just the way things have to be.”

I was about to respond when I heard the sound of a vehicle pulling onto the property and crackling over the gravel driveway. I heard a door slam, followed by a rapping at the door. I had no idea who it could be; other than Natalie, visitors to the house were practically nonexistent. I desperately wanted to continue the conversation with Natalie—or begin a conversation that I understood—but Natalie nodded toward the house.

“Someone’s at the door,” she said.

“I know. But…”

“You should probably answer it. And I need to get back to work.”

Though I could have asked if we could continue the conversation, I already knew what her answer would be and retreated into the house.

At the door, I recognized the brown uniform of a UPS delivery driver. He was about my age, thin and wiry, and he handed me a medium-sized box. For a moment, I tried to recall if I’d ordered something, but came up empty. He held out an electronic clipboard, along with the attached pen.

“Could you please sign for this?”

I set the box down, scribbled my name, then closed the door behind me. On the return label, I saw the address of a law firm in South Carolina, and it all came rushing back.

My grandfather’s things.

I brought the box to the kitchen. Natalie came in from the porch as I placed it on the table. I hesitated, torn. I wanted to open the box immediately; I also longed to keep Natalie here, to continue to try to reach her and persuade her that she was making a mistake for both of us.