Nicholas Sparks: Message in a Bottle

CHAPTER 12

Not knowing where else to go, Garrett caught a cab to the airport after leaving Theresa’s apartment. Unfortunately no flights were available, and he ended up staying in the terminal the rest of the night, still angry and unable to sleep. Pacing the terminal for hours, he wandered past shops that had long since closed up for the evening, stopping only occasionally to look through the barricades that kept nighttime travelers at bay.

The following morning he caught the first flight he could and made it home a little after eleven and then went straight to his room. As he lay in bed, however, the events of the evening before kept running through his head, keeping him awake. Trying and failing to fall asleep, he eventually gave up. He showered and dressed, then sat on his bed again. Staring at the photograph of catherine, he eventually picked it up and carried it with him into the living room. On the coffee table he found the letters where he’d left them. In Theresa’s apartment he’d been too shocked to make sense of them, but now, with her picture in front of him, he read the letters slowly, almost reverently, sensing Catherine’s presence filling the room.

“Hey, I thought you’d forgotten about our date,” he said as he watched Catherine walking down the dock with a grocery bag.

Smiling, Catherine took his hand as she stepped on board. “I didn’t forget, I just had a little detour on the way.”

“Where?”

“Actually, I went to see the doctor.”

He took the bag from her and set it off to one side. “Are you okay? I know you haven’t been feeling well—”

“I’m okay,” she said, cutting him off gently. “But I don’t think I’m up for a sail tonight.”

“Something is wrong, isn’t it?”

Catherine smiled again as she leaned over and pulled a small package out of one of the bags. Garrett watched as she began to open it.

“Close your eyes,” she said, “and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Still a little unsure, Garrett nonetheless did as she asked and heard as tissue paper was unwrapped. “Okay, you can open them now.”

Catherine was holding up baby clothes in front of her.

“What’s this?” he asked, not understanding.

Her face was buoyant. “I’m pregnant,” she said excitedly.

“Pregnant?”

“Uh-huh. I’m officially eight weeks along.”

“Eight weeks?”

She nodded. “I think I must have gotten pregnant the last time we went sailing.”

Hesitating from the shock, Garrett took the baby clothes and held them delicately in his hand, then finally leaned forward and gave Catherine a hug. “I can’t believe it. . . .”

“It’s true.”

A broad smile crossed his lips as the realization finally began to sink in. “You’re pregnant.”

Catherine closed her eyes and whispered in his ear, “And you’re going to be a father.”

Garrett’s thoughts were interrupted by the squeaking of the door. His father peeked his head into the room.

“I saw your truck out front. I wanted to make sure everything was okay,” he said in explanation. “I didn’t expect you back here until this evening.” When Garrett didn’t respond, his father walked in and immediately spotted Catherine’s picture on the table. “You okay, son?” he asked cautiously.

They sat in the living room while Garrett explained the situation from the beginning—the dreams he’d been having over the years, the messages he’d been sending by bottle, finally moving on to the argument they’d had the night before. He left nothing out. When he finished, his father took the letters from Garrett’s hand.

“It must have been quite a shock,” he said, glancing at the pages, surprised that Garrett had never mentioned the letters to him. He paused. “But don’t you think you were a little rough on her?”

Garrett shook his head tiredly. “She knew everything about me, Dad, and she never told me. She set the whole thing up.”

“no, she didn’t,” he said gently. “She may have come down to meet you, but she didn’t make you fall in love with her. You did that on your own.”

Garrett looked away before finally returning his gaze to the picture on the table. “But don’t you think it was wrong of her to hide it from me?”

Jeb sighed, not wanting to answer the question, knowing it would lead Garrett to retread old ground. Instead he tried to think of another way to get through to his son. “A couple of weeks ago, when we were talking on the pier, you told me you wanted to marry Theresa because you loved her. Do you remember that?”

Garrett nodded absently.

“Why has that changed?”

Garrett looked at his father, confused. “I’ve already told you that—”

Jeb gently cut him off before he could finish.

“Yeah, you’ve explained your reasons, but you haven’t been honest about it. Not with me, not with Theresa, not even with yourself. She may not have told you about the letters, and granted, maybe she should have. But that’s not why you’re still angry now. You’re angry because she made you realize something that you didn’t want to admit.”

Garrett looked at his father without responding. Then, rising from the couch, he went to the kitchen, suddenly feeling the urge to escape the conversation. In the refrigerator, he found a pitcher of sweet tea and poured himself a glass. Holding the freezer open, he pulled out the metal tray to crack out a couple of cubes. In a sudden spurt of frustration, he pulled the lever too hard and ice cubes flew over the counter and onto the floor.

as garrett muttered and cursed in the kitchen, Jeb stared at the picture of Catherine, remembering his own wife from long ago. He put the letters beside it and walked to the sliding glass door. Opening it, he watched as cold December winds from the Atlantic made the waves crash violently, the sounds echoing through the house. Jeb contemplated the ocean, watching it churn and roll until he heard a knock at the door.

He turned, wondering who it could be. Strangely, he realized that in all of his visits here, no one had ever come to the door.

In the kitchen, Garrett apparently hadn’t heard the knock. Jeb went to answer it. Behind him, the wind chimes hanging over the back deck were ringing loudly.

“Coming,” he called out.

When the front door swung open, wind gusted through the living room, scattering the letters to the floor. Jeb, however, didn’t notice. All his attention was focused on the visitor on the porch. He couldn’t help but stare.

Standing before him was a dark-haired young woman he’d never seen before. He paused in the doorway, knowing exactly who she was but finding himself at a loss for words. He moved aside to make room for her.

“C’mon in,” he said quietly.

As she entered, closing the door behind her, the wind abruptly died. She glanced at Jeb, uncomfortable. For a moment, neither spoke.

“You must be Theresa,” Jeb finally said. In the background, Jeb could hear Garrett mumbling to himself as he cleaned up the ice in the kitchen. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She crossed her arms, hesitating. “I know I’m not expected. . . .”

“it’s okay,” Jeb encouraged.

“Is he here?”

Jeb nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Yeah, he’s here. He’s getting something to drink.”

“How is he?”

Jeb shrugged and gave her a slow, wry smile. “You’ll have to talk to him. . . .”

Theresa nodded, suddenly wondering whether coming down was a good idea. She glanced around the room and immediately spied the letters spread around the floor. She also noticed Garrett’s bag sitting by his bedroom door, still packed from his visit. Other than that, the house looked exactly the same as it always did.