Nicholas Sparks - The Best of Me

“What happened on the night of the accident? I heard bits and pieces from my mom, but I never got the whole story and I didn’t know what to believe.”

Dawson chewed in silence before answering. “There’s not much to tell,” he finally said. “Tuck had ordered a set of tires for an Impala he was restoring, but for whatever reason, they ended up being delivered to a shop over in New Bern. He asked if I’d go pick them up, and I did. It had rained a little, and by the time I was getting back to town it was already dark.”

He paused, trying yet again to make sense of the impossible. “There was an oncoming car and the guy was speeding. Or woman. I never did find out. Anyway, whoever it was crossed over the centerline just as I was closing in, and I jerked the wheel to make room. Next thing I knew, he was flying past me and the truck was halfway off the road. I saw Dr. Bonner, but…” The images were still clear, the images were always clear, an unchanging nightmare. “It was like the whole thing was happening in slow motion. I slammed on the brakes and kept turning the wheel, but the roads and grass were slick, and then…”

He trailed off. In the silence, Amanda touched his arm. “It was an accident,” she whispered.

Dawson said nothing, but when he shuffled his feet, Amanda asked the obvious. “Why did you go to jail? If you weren’t drinking or speeding?”

When he shrugged, she realized she already knew the answer. It was as clear as the spelling of his last name.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words sounding inadequate.

“I know. But don’t feel sorry for me,” he said. “Feel sorry for Dr. Bonner’s family. Because of me, he never came home. Because of me, his kids grew up without a father. Because of me, his wife still lives alone.”

“You don’t know that,” she countered. “Maybe she remarried.”

“She didn’t,” he said. Before she could ask how he knew this, he started in on his plate again. “But what about you?” Dawson asked abruptly, as if stowing their previous conversation away and slamming the lid shut, making her regret she’d brought it up. “Catch me up on what you’ve been doing since we last saw each other.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

He reached for the bottle of wine and poured more for both of them. “How about you start with college?”

Amanda capitulated, filling him in on her life, initially in broad strokes. Dawson listened intently, asking questions as she talked, probing for more detail. The words began to come easily. She told him about her roommates, about her classes and the professors who had most inspired her. She admitted that the year she spent teaching was nothing like she expected, if only because she could barely grasp the idea that she was no longer a student. She talked about meeting Frank, though saying his name made her feel strangely guilty, and she didn’t mention him again. She told Dawson a little about her friends and some of the places she’d traveled over the years, but mainly she talked about her kids, describing their personalities and challenges and trying not to boast too much about their accomplishments.

Occasionally, when she’d finished a thought, she’d ask Dawson about his life on the rig, or what his days at home were like, but usually he’d steer the conversation back to her. He seemed genuinely interested in her life, and she found that it felt oddly natural to ramble on, almost like they were picking up the thread of a long-interrupted conversation.

Afterward, she tried to recall the last time she and Frank had talked like this, even when they were out alone. These days, Frank would drink and do most of the talking; when they discussed the kids, it was always about how they were doing in school or any problems they might be having and how best to solve them. Their conversations were efficient and purpose-driven, and he seldom asked about her day or her interests. Part of that, she knew, was endemic to any long marriage; there was little new to talk about. But somehow she felt that her connection with Dawson had always been different, and it made her wonder whether life would have taken its toll eventually on their relationship, too. She didn’t want to think so, but how was she to know for sure?

They talked on into the night, the stars blurring through the kitchen window. The breeze picked up, moving through the leaves on the trees like rolling ocean waves. The wine bottle was empty and Amanda was feeling warm and relaxed. Dawson brought the dishes to the sink and they stood next to each other as Dawson washed while she dried. Every now and then, she’d catch him studying her as he passed her one of the dishes, and though in many ways a lifetime had elapsed in the years they had been apart, she had the uncanny feeling that they’d never lost contact at all.

When they finished in the kitchen, Dawson motioned toward the back door. “Do you still have a few minutes?”

Amanda glanced at her watch, and though she knew she probably should go, she found herself saying, “Okay. Just a few.”

Dawson held the door open and she slipped past him, descending the creaking wooden steps. The moon had finally crested, lending the landscape a strange and exotic beauty. Silvery dew blanketed the ground cover, dampening the open toes of her shoes, and the smell of pine was heavy in the air. They walked side by side, the sound of their footfalls lost among the song of crickets and the whispering of the leaves.

Near the bank, an ancient oak spread its low-hanging limbs, the image reflecting on the water. The river had washed away part of the bank, making the limbs almost impossible to reach without getting wet, and they stopped. “That’s where we used to sit,” he said.

“It was our spot,” she said. “Especially after I had an argument with my parents.”

“Wait. You argued with your parents back then?” Dawson feigned amazement. “It wasn’t about me, was it?”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “Funny guy. But anyway, we used to climb up and you’d put your arm around me and I’d cry and yell and you’d just let me rant about how unfair it all was until I finally calmed down. I was pretty dramatic back then, wasn’t I?”

“Not that I noticed.”

She stifled a laugh. “Do you remember how the mullets used to jump? At times, there were so many it was like they were putting on a show.”

“I’m sure they’ll be jumping tonight.”

“I know, but it won’t be the same. When we came out here, I needed to see them. It was like they always knew that I needed something special to make me feel better.”

“I thought I was the one who made you feel better.”

“It was definitely the mullets,” she teased.

He smiled. “Did you and Tuck ever come down here?”

She shook her head. “The slope was a little too steep for him. But I did. Or I tried, anyway.”

“What does that mean?”

“I guess I wanted to know if this place would still feel the same to me, but I didn’t even get this far. It’s not like I saw or heard anything on the way down here, but I got to thinking that anyone could be out in the woods, and my imagination just… ran away with me. I realized I was all alone, and if something happened there wouldn’t be anything I could do. So I turned around and went back inside and I never came down here again.”

“Until now.”

“I’m not alone.” She studied the eddies in the water, hoping a mullet would jump, but there was nothing. “It’s hard to believe it’s been as long as it has,” she murmured. “We were so young.”

“Not too young.” His voice was quiet, yet strangely certain.

“We were kids, Dawson. It didn’t seem that way at the time, but when you become a parent, your perspective changes. I mean, Lynn is seventeen, and I can’t imagine her feeling the way I did back then. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend. And if she was sneaking out her bedroom window in the middle of the night, I’d probably act the same way my parents did.”