Nicholas Sparks - Message in a Bottle

He wondered about her answer. “Do you usually take vacations alone?”

“Actually, this is my first time.”

A female jogger appeared, moving quickly toward them with a black Labrador retriever by her side. The dog looked spent in the heat, his tongue hanging out too far. Oblivious of the dog’s condition, she kept going, eventually veering around Theresa. Garrett almost said something to the woman about it as she passed but didn’t think it was his business.

It was a few moments before Garrett spoke again. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“It depends on the question.”

He stopped walking and picked up a couple of small seashells that caught his eye. After turning them over a few times, he handed them to her. “Are you seeing anyone up in Boston?”

She took the shells as she answered. “No.”

Lapping waves collected at their feet as they stood in the shallow water. Though he had expected the answer, he couldn’t understand why someone like her would spend most of her evenings alone.

“Why not? A woman like you should have your pick of men.”

She smiled at that, and they slowly started walking again. “Thanks, that’s nice of you to say. But it’s not that easy, especially when you have a son. There are a lot of things I have to consider when I meet someone.” She paused. “But what about you? Are you seeing anyone right now?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“then it’s my turn to ask—why not?”

Garrett shrugged. “I guess I haven’t met anyone I’d really like to see on a regular basis.”

“Is that all?”

It was a moment of truth, and Garrett knew it. All he had to do was affirm his earlier statement and that would be the end of it. But for a few steps he didn’t say anything.

The beach crowd had thinned as they moved farther away from the pier, and the only sound now was that of the crashing waves. Garrett saw a group of terns standing near the water’s edge, already moving out of their path. The sun, almost directly overhead now, reflected off the sand and made them both squint a little as they strolled along. Garrett didn’t look at her as he spoke, and Theresa moved closer so that she could hear him over the roar of the ocean.

“No, that’s not all. It’s more of an excuse than anything. To be honest, I haven’t even tried to find someone.”

Theresa watched him carefully as he spoke. He was looking straight ahead as if gathering his thoughts, but she could sense his reluctance as he went on.

“There was something I didn’t tell you last night.”

She felt something tighten inside, knowing exactly what was coming. Keeping her face neutral, she said simply: “Oh?”

“I was married once, too,” he finally said. “For six years.” He turned to her with an expression that made her flinch. “But she passed away.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Again he stopped and picked up some seashells, only this time he didn’t hand them to Theresa. After inspecting them casually, he threw one into the oncoming waves. Theresa watched it disappear into the ocean.

“It happened three years ago. Ever since then, I haven’t been interested in dating, or even looking.” He stopped for a moment, uncomfortable.

“It must get lonely sometimes.”

“It does, but I try not to think about that too much. I keep busy at the shop—there’s always something to do there—and it helps the days go by. Before I know it, it’s time for me to go to bed and I start the whole thing over the next day.”

When he finished, he glanced at her with a weak smile. There, he’d said it. He’d wanted to tell someone other than his father for years, and he’d ended up telling it to a woman from Boston he barely knew. A woman who had somehow been able to open doors that he himself had nailed shut.

She said nothing. When he didn’t add anything else, she asked: “What was she like?”

“Catherine?” Garrett’s throat went dry. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah, I do,” she said in a gentle voice.

He threw another shell into the surf, gathering his thoughts. How could he hope to describe her in words? Yet part of him wanted to try, wanted Theresa of all people to understand. Despite himself, he was drawn back in time once more.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Catherine said as she looked up from the garden. “I didn’t expect you home so soon.”

“It’s been pretty slow in the shop this morning, and I thought I’d pop home for lunch to see how you were doing.”

“I’m feeling a lot better.”

“You think it was the flu?”

“I don’t know. It was probably something I ate. About an hour after you left, I felt good enough to do a little gardening.”

“I can see that.”

“How do you like the flowers?” She gestured at a freshly turned patch of soil.

Garrett surveyed the freshly planted pansies lining the porch. He smiled. “They’re great, but don’t you think you should have left some of the dirt in the flower bed?”

She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and stood, squinting up at him in the bright sunlight. “Do I look that bad?”

Her knees were dark from kneeling in the dirt, and a streak of mud ran across her cheek. Her hair was escaping from a messy ponytail, and her face was red and sweating from exertion.

“You look perfect.”

Catherine took off her gloves and tossed them on the porch. “I’m not perfect, Garrett, but thanks. C’mon, let me get you some lunch. I know you’ve got to get back to the shop.”

He sighed and finally turned his head. Theresa was staring at him, waiting. He spoke softly.

“She was everything I ever wanted. She was beautiful and charming, with a quick sense of humor, and she supported me in everything I did. I’d known her practically my whole life—we went to school together. We got married a year after I graduated from UNC. We were married for six years before the accident, and they were the best six years I ever had. When she was taken away . . .” He paused as if he were at a loss for words. “I don’t know whether I’ll ever get used to being without her.”

The way he spoke about Catherine made Theresa hurt for him more than she would have imagined. It wasn’t just his voice, but the look on his face before he described her—as if torn between the beauty of his memories and the pain of remembering. Though the letters had been touching, they hadn’t prepared her for this. I shouldn’t have brought it up, she thought. I already knew how he felt about her. There wasn’t any reason to make him talk about it.

But there was , another voice in her head suddenly chimed in. You had to see his reaction for yourself. You had to find out whether he was ready to put the past behind him .

After a few moments, Garrett absently tossed the remaining shells into the water. “I’m sorry about that,” he said.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have told you about her. Or so much about me.”

“It’s okay, Garrett. I wanted to know. I asked you about her, remember?”

“I didn’t mean to come off sounding like I did.” He spoke as if he’d done something wrong. Theresa’s reaction was almost instinctive.

Stepping toward him, she reached for his hand. Taking it slowly in hers, she squeezed it gently. When she looked at him, she saw surprise in his eyes, though he didn’t try to pull away.

“You lost a wife—something that most people our age don’t know anything about.” He lowered his eyes as she struggled for the right words.

“Your feelings say a lot about you. You’re the kind of person who loves someone forever. . . . That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”