Nicholas Sparks - The Best of Me

I get it, Amanda wanted to say. You’re upset. Are you done now? Instead, she sipped her coffee, resolving that no matter how many buttons her mom pressed, she wouldn’t be drawn into an argument.

Amanda heard the toast pop up. Her mother opened the drawer and pulled out a knife before closing it with a rattle. She began to butter her toast.

“Are you feeling any better?” her mom finally asked without turning around.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Are you ready to tell me what’s going on? Or where you were?”

“I told you, I had a late start.” Amanda tried her best to keep her voice even.

“I tried to call you, but I kept getting your voice mail.”

“My battery died.” That lie had come to her last night, on her way over. Her mom was nothing if not predictable.

Her mother picked up her plate. “Is that why you never called Frank?”

“I talked to him yesterday, about an hour after he got home from work.” She picked up the morning paper, scanning the headlines with studied nonchalance.

“Well, he also called here.”

“And?”

“He was surprised you hadn’t arrived yet,” Amanda’s mother sniffed. “He said that as far as he knew, you left around two.”

“I had to run some errands before I left,” she said. The lies came way too easily, she thought, but then she’d had a lot of practice.

“He sounded upset.”

No, he sounded like he was drinking, Amanda thought, and I doubt if he’ll even remember. She got up from the table and refilled her cup of coffee. “I’ll call him later.”

Her mother took a seat. “I was invited to play bridge last night.”

So that’s what this was about, Amanda thought. Or at least part of it, anyway. Her mom was addicted to the game and had been playing with the same group of women for almost thirty years. “You should have gone.”

“I couldn’t, because I knew you were coming and I thought we’d have dinner together.” Her mother sat down stiffly. “Eugenia Wilcox had to fill in for me.”

Eugenia Wilcox lived just down the street, in another historic mansion that was as gorgeous as Evelyn’s. Though they supposedly were friends — her mom and Eugenia had known each other all their lives — there’d always been an unspoken rivalry between the two of them, encompassing who had the better house and the better garden and everything in between, including which of them made the better red velvet cake.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Amanda said, sitting back down again. “I should have called you earlier.”

“Eugenia doesn’t know the first thing about bidding and it ruined the entire game. Martha Ann already called and complained to me about it. But anyway, I told her that you were in town and one thing led to another and she invited us over for dinner tonight.”

Amanda frowned and put down her coffee cup. “You didn’t say yes, did you?”

“Of course I did.”

An image of Dawson flashed in her mind. “I don’t know if I’m going to have time,” she improvised. “There might be a wake tonight.”

“There might be a wake? What does that mean? Either there’s a wake or there isn’t one.”

“I mean that I’m not sure if there is one. When the lawyer called, he didn’t give me any specifics about the funeral.”

“That’s kind of strange, isn’t it? That he wouldn’t tell you anything?”

Maybe, Amanda thought. But no stranger than Tuck arranging for Dawson and me to have dinner at his house last night. “I’m sure he’s just doing what Tuck wanted.”

At the mention of Tuck’s name, her mom fingered the pearl necklace she was wearing. Amanda had never known her to leave the bedroom without makeup and jewelry, and this morning was no exception. Evelyn Collier had always embodied the spirit of the Old South and would no doubt continue to until the day she died.

“I still don’t understand why you had to come back for this. It’s not as if you really knew the man.”

“I knew him, Mom.”

“Years ago. I mean, it’s one thing if you were still living here in town. Maybe then I could understand it. But there was no reason to make a special trip down here for it.”

“I came to pay my respects.”

“He didn’t have the best reputation, you know. A lot of people thought he was crazy. And what am I supposed to say to my friends about why you’re here?”

“I don’t know why you have to say anything.”

“Because they’re going to ask why you’re here,” she said.

“Why would they ask?”

“Because they find you interesting .”

Amanda heard something in her mother’s tone she didn’t quite understand. As she tried to figure it out, she added some cream to her coffee. “I didn’t realize I was such a hot topic of conversation,” she remarked.

“It’s really not that surprising if you think about it. You hardly ever bring Frank or the kids with you anymore. I can’t help it if they find it strange.”

“We’ve gone over this before,” Amanda said, unable to hide her exasperation. “Frank works and the kids are in school, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t come. Sometimes, daughters do that. They go visit their mother.”

“And sometimes, they don’t see their mother at all. That’s what they really find interesting, if you want to know the truth.”

“What are you talking about?” Amanda narrowed her eyes.

“I’m talking about the fact that you come to Oriental when you know I won’t be around. And that you stay in my house, without so much as even letting me know about it.” She didn’t bother to disguise her hostility before going on. “You didn’t realize that I knew about it, did you? Like when I went on the cruise last year? Or when I went to visit my sister in Charleston the year before that? It’s a small town, Amanda. People saw you. My friends saw you. What I don’t understand is why you believed I wouldn’t find out.”

“Mom—”

“Don’t,” she said, raising a perfectly manicured hand. “I know exactly why you came. I might be older, but that doesn’t mean I’m senile. Why else would you be here for the funeral? It’s obvious you came here to see him. And that’s where you went all those times you told me that you were going shopping, am I correct? Or when you said you were visiting your friend at the beach? You’ve been lying to me all along.”

Amanda dropped her gaze and said nothing. There was really nothing she could say. In the silence, she heard a sigh. When her mom finally went on, her voice had lost its edge.

“You know what? I’ve been lying for you, too, Amanda, and I’m tired of it. But I’m still your mother and you can talk to me.”

“Yes, Mom.” In her voice she heard the petulant echo of her teenage self and hated herself for it.

“Is something going on with the kids that I should know about?”

“No. The kids are great.”

“Is it Frank?”

Amanda rotated the handle on her coffee cup to the opposite side.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“No.” Amanda’s voice was flat.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” she said again.

“What’s going on with you, Amanda?”

For some reason, the question made her think about Dawson, and for an instant she was back in Tuck’s kitchen, basking in Dawson’s attention. And she knew then that she wanted nothing more than to see him again, no matter what the consequences.

“I don’t know,” she finally murmured. “I wish I did, but I don’t.”

After Amanda went up to shower, Evelyn Collier stood on the back porch, staring at the fine layer of mist that hovered over the river. Normally, it was one of her favorite times of the day and had been, ever since she was a girl. Back then, she hadn’t lived on the river; she’d lived near the mill her father owned, but on weekends she used to wander out to the bridge, where she sometimes sat for hours, watching the sun gradually dissipate the mist. Harvey had known she’d always wanted to live on the river, and it was the reason he’d bought the house only a few months after they’d been married. Of course, he’d bought it from his father for a song — the Colliers owned a lot of property back then — so it hadn’t been a terrible stretch for him, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that he’d cared, and she wished he were still around, if only to talk to him about Amanda. Who on earth knew what was going on with her these days? But then Amanda had always been a mystery, even as a girl. She had her own ideas about things, and from the time she could walk she’d always been as stubborn as a warped door on a humid summer day. If her mom told her to stay close, Amanda would wander off the first chance she got; if she told Amanda to wear something pretty, Amanda would skip down the steps wearing something from the back of the closet. When she was very young it had been somewhat possible to keep Amanda under control and on the right track. She was a Collier, after all, and people had expectations. But once Amanda became a teenager? Lord knows, it was like the devil had gotten into her. First Dawson Cole — a Cole ! — and then the lies and sneaking out and the endless moodiness and fresh responses whenever she tried to talk some sense into her daughter. Evelyn’s hair actually began to turn gray from the stress, and though Amanda didn’t know it, if it wasn’t for a steady supply of bourbon, she wasn’t sure how she would have made it through those awful years.