Nicholas Sparks - The Best of Me

“I don’t know what to say,” she finally burst out.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“I’m serious, Dawson,” she said, her anger evident. “I mean, I know that there’s something noble about what you’re doing, and I’m sure it made a difference in their lives. But… there’s something sad about it, too, because you can’t forgive yourself for what so clearly was an accident. Everyone makes mistakes, even if some are worse than others. Accidents happen. But having someone follow them? To know exactly what’s happening in their lives? That’s just wrong.”

“You don’t understand—,” he started.

“No, you don’t understand,” she interrupted. “Don’t you think they deserve their privacy? Taking photos, digging through their personal lives—”

“It’s not like that,” he protested.

“But it is!” Amanda slapped the armrest of her rocker. “What if they ever found out? Can you imagine how terrible that would be? How betrayed and invaded they’d feel?” Surprising him, she placed a hand on his arm, her grasp firm and yet urgent to make sure he heard her. “I’m not saying I agree with what you’re doing; what you do with your money is your business. But the rest? With the detectives? You’ve got to stop. You’ve got to promise me you’ll do that, okay?”

He could feel the heat radiating from her touch. “All right,” he said finally. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

She studied him, making sure he was telling the truth. For the first time since they’d met, Dawson looked almost tired. There was something defeated in his posture, and as they sat together she found herself wondering what would have happened to him had she never left that summer. Or even if she’d gone to visit him while he’d been in prison. She wanted to believe that it might have made a difference, that Dawson would have been able to live a life less haunted by the past. That Dawson, if not happy, would have at the very least been able to find a sense of peace. For him, peace had always been elusive.

But then he wasn’t alone in that, was he? Wasn’t that what everyone wanted?

“I have another confession,” he said. “About the Bonners.”

She felt her breath as it left her lungs. “More?”

He scratched the side of his nose with his free hand, as if to buy time. “I brought flowers to Dr. Bonner’s grave earlier this morning. It was something I used to do when I got out of prison. When it got to be too much, you know?”

She stared at him, wondering if he was about to tack on another surprise, but he didn’t. “That’s not quite on the level of the other things you’ve been doing.”

“I know. I just thought I should mention it.”

“Why? Because now you want my opinion?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

She didn’t answer for a moment. “I think flowers are fine,” she finally said, “as long as you don’t overdo it. That’s actually… appropriate.”

He turned toward her. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she said. “Placing flowers at his grave is meaningful, but not invasive.”

He nodded but said nothing. In the silence, Amanda leaned even closer. “Do you know what I’m thinking?” she asked.

“After everything I’ve said, I’m almost afraid to guess.”

“I think you and Tuck are more alike than you realize.”

He turned toward her. “Is that good or bad?”

“I’m still here with you, aren’t I?”

When the heat became stifling even in the shade, Amanda led them back inside. The screen door banged shut gently behind them.

“You ready?” he asked, surveying the kitchen.

“No,” she said. “But I suppose we have to do this. For the record, it still seems wrong to me. I don’t even know how to start.”

Dawson paced the length of the kitchen before turning to face her. “Okay, let’s do this: When you think about your last visit with Tuck, what comes to mind?”

“It was the same as always. He talked about Clara, I made him dinner.” She gave a small shrug. “I put a blanket over his shoulders when he fell asleep in the chair.”

Dawson drew her into the living room and nodded toward the fireplace. “Then maybe you should take the picture.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t do that.”

“You’d rather it be thrown away?”

“No, of course not. But you should take it. You knew him better than I did.”

“Not really,” he said. “He never talked to me about Clara. And when you see it, you’ll think about both of them, not just him, and that’s why he told you about her.”

When she hesitated, he stepped toward the fireplace and gently removed it from the mantel. “He wanted this to be important to you. He wanted the two of them to be important to you.”

She reached for the photo, staring at it. “But if I take this, what’s left for you? I mean, there’s not much here.”

“Don’t worry. There’s something I saw earlier that I’d like to keep.” He moved toward the door. “Come on.”

Amanda followed him down the steps. As they approached the garage it dawned on her: If the house was where she and Tuck had forged their bond, the garage had been that place for Dawson and Tuck. And even before he found it, she already knew what he wanted.

Dawson reached for the faded bandanna folded neatly on the workbench. “This is what he wanted me to have,” he said.

“You sure?” Amanda squinted at the square of red cloth. “It’s not much.”

“It’s the first time I’ve ever noticed a clean one around here, so it has to be for me.” He grinned. “But yeah, I’m sure. To me, this is Tuck. I don’t think I ever saw him without one. Always the same color, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “We’re talking about Tuck, right? Mr. Constant-in-All-Things?”

Dawson tucked the bandanna into his back pocket. “It’s not such a bad thing. Change isn’t always for the best.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, and Amanda didn’t reply. Instead, when he leaned against the Stingray, it triggered something in her memory, and Amanda took a step toward him. “I forgot to ask Tanner what to do with the car.”

“I was thinking that I might as well finish it. Then Tanner can just call the owner to pick it up.”

“Really?”

“As far as I can tell, all the parts are here,” he said, “and I’m pretty sure Tuck would have wanted me to finish it. Besides, you’re going to dinner with your mom, so it’s not like I have anything else to do tonight.”

“How long will it take?” Amanda scanned the boxes of spare parts.

“I don’t know. A few hours, maybe?”

She turned her attention to the car, walking its length before facing him again. “Okay,” she said. “Do you need help?”

Dawson gave a wry smile. “Did you learn how to fix engines since I saw you last?”

“No.”

“I can take care of it after you leave,” he said. “No big deal.” Turning around, he gestured toward the house. “We can go back inside if you’d rather. It’s pretty hot out here.”

“I don’t want you to have to work late,” she said, and like an old habit rediscovered, she moved to the spot that had once been hers. She pushed a rusty tire iron out of the way and lifted herself onto the workbench before making herself comfortable. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow. And besides, I always liked watching you work.”

He thought he heard something akin to a promise in that, and it struck him that the years seemed to be looping back on themselves, allowing him to revisit the time and place where he’d been happiest. Turning away, he reminded himself that Amanda was married. The last thing she needed was the kind of complication that comes from trying to rewrite the past. He drew a slow, deliberate breath and reached for a box on the other end of the workbench.