Nicholas Sparks - The Best of Me

After Amanda rewrapped the clover and tucked it into her pocket, they got up and walked the property, their arms around each other. Skirting the wildflowers — the path they’d used the day before was muddy — they made their way around the back. The house was set into a small bluff; beyond that, the Bay River stretched out, almost as wide as the Neuse. At the water’s edge, they spotted a blue heron high-stepping through the shallows; a little farther down, a clutch of turtles was sunning on a log.

They stayed for a while, taking it all in before slowly circling back to the house. On the porch, Dawson pulled her close, kissing her again, and she kissed him back, flooded by the knowledge of her love for him. When they finally drew back, she heard the faint sound of a cell phone as it began to ring. Her phone, reminding her of the life she still had elsewhere. At the sound, Amanda bowed her head reluctantly, as did Dawson. Their foreheads came together as the ringing continued, and she closed her eyes. It seemed to go on forever, but once it was finally quiet, Amanda opened her eyes and looked at him, hoping he’d understand.

He nodded and reached for the door, opening it for her. She stepped inside, turning when she grasped that he wasn’t going to follow. Instead, after watching as he took a seat on the step, she forced herself in the direction of the bedroom. Reaching for her bag, she fished out her cell phone, turned it on, and looked at the list of missed calls.

Suddenly, she was sick to her stomach and her mind began to race. She went to the bathroom, shedding clothes as she walked. Instinctively, she made a mental list of what she had to do, what she was going to say. She turned on the shower and searched the cabinets for shampoo and soap, fortunately finding both. Then she stepped in, trying to wash off the feeling of panic. Afterward, she toweled off and slipped back into her clothes, drying her hair as best she could. Carefully she applied the little makeup she always carried with her.

She moved quickly through the bedroom, tidying up. She made the bed and put the pillows back in place; from there, she retrieved the nearly empty bottle of wine and poured what remained down the sink. Sliding the bottle into the garbage pail beneath the sink, she thought twice about bringing it with her, then decided to leave it in place. From the end tables, she collected the two half-empty glasses. After rinsing them with water, she dried them and replaced them in the cupboard. Hiding the evidence.

But the phone calls. The missed calls. The messages .

She was going to have to lie. The thought of telling Frank where she’d been struck her as utterly impossible. She couldn’t bear the thought of what her children might think. Or her mother. She needed to fix this. Somehow, she needed to fix everything, yet underneath that thought lurked a persistent voice, whispering the question: Do you know what you’ve done?

Yes. But I love him, another voice answered.

Standing in the kitchen, overcome by emotion, she felt like she was going to cry. And maybe she would have, but a moment later, anticipating her turmoil, Dawson walked into the small kitchen. He took her in his arms and whispered again that he loved her, and for just an instant, as impossible as it seemed, she felt that everything was going to be all right.

They were both quiet as they made the drive back to Oriental. Dawson could sense Amanda’s anxiety and knew enough to stay quiet, but his grip was tight on the wheel.

Amanda’s throat felt raw — nerves, she knew. Having Dawson beside her was the only thing that kept her from breaking down. Her mind shifted from memories to plans to feelings to worries, one right after the other, a kaleidoscope that changed with every turn. Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed the miles going by.

They reached Oriental a little before noon and drove past the marina; a few minutes later, they were turning up the drive. She vaguely noticed that Dawson had grown tense, his eyes scanning the trees lining the drive as he leaned over the wheel. Cautious, even. His cousins, she thought suddenly, and as the car began to slow, Dawson’s expression suddenly took on a look of disbelief.

Following his gaze, Amanda turned toward the house. The house and garage appeared exactly the same; their cars were still parked in the same spot. But when Amanda saw what Dawson had noticed already, she found that she felt almost nothing. She’d known all along that it would come down to this.

Dawson slowed the car to a stop and she turned toward him, flashing a brief smile, trying to reassure him that she could handle it.

“She left three messages.” Amanda gave a helpless shrug. Dawson nodded, recognizing that she needed to confront this alone. With a deep breath, Amanda opened the door and stepped out, not at all surprised that her mom looked as though she’d taken time to dress for the occasion.

Dawson watched as Amanda made straight for the house, allowing her mother to follow if she wished. Evelyn didn’t seem to know what to do. She obviously hadn’t been to Tuck’s place before; it wasn’t an ideal destination for anyone in a cream pantsuit and pearls, especially after a rainstorm. Hesitating, she looked toward Dawson. She stared at him, her face impassive, as if reacting to his presence were somehow beneath her.

She finally turned and followed her daughter to the porch. By then Amanda was already seated in one of the rocking chairs. Dawson put the car back into gear and slowly drove it toward the garage.

He climbed out and leaned against the workbench. From where he was standing, he could no longer see Amanda, nor could he imagine what she would say to her mother. As he looked around Tuck’s garage, something pricked Dawson’s memory, something that Morgan Tanner had said while he and Amanda had been in his office. He’d said that both Dawson and Amanda would know when to read the letter he’d written each of them, and all at once he knew that Tuck had meant for him to read it now. Tuck probably foresaw how things would play out.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the envelope. Unfolding it, he ran his finger over his name. It was the same shaky scrawl he’d noticed in the letter he and Amanda had read together. Turning the envelope over, he pried it open. Unlike the previous letter, this one was only a single page, front and back. In the quiet of the garage that Dawson once called home, he focused on the words and began to read.

Dawson,

I’m not exactly sure how to start this letter, other than to tell you that over the years, I’ve come to know Amanda pretty well. I’d like to think she hasn’t changed since I first laid eyes on her, but I can’t honestly say for sure. Back then, you two kept pretty much to yourselves, and like a lot of young folk you both went still whenever I came around. Had no problem with that, by the way. Did the same thing with Clara. Don’t know if her daddy heard me talk until after we were married, but that’s another story.

My point is, I don’t really know who she was, but I know who she is now, and let’s just say I know why you never got over her. She’s got a lot of goodness inside her, that one. Lots of love, lots of patience, smart as a whip, and she’s just about the prettiest thing that ever walked the streets of this town, that’s for sure. But it’s her kindness I think I like best because I’ve been around long enough to know how rare something like that really is.

I’m probably not telling you anything you don’t already know, but over the last few years, I’ve come think of her as something like a daughter. That means I have to talk to you like maybe her daddy would have, because daddies ain’t worth much if they don’t worry just a little. Especially about her. Because more than anything else, you should understand that Amanda’s hurting, and I think she’s been hurting for a while now. I saw it when she first came to see me, and I guess I hoped it was a phase, but the more she came to visit, the worse she seemed to be feeling. Every now and then, I’d wake up and see her poking around the garage, and I began to understand that you were part of the reason she was feeling the way she was. She was haunted by the past, haunted by you. But trust me when I say that memories are funny things. Sometimes they’re real, but other times they change into what we want them to be, and in her own way, I think Amanda was trying to figure out what the past really meant to her. That’s the reason I set up the weekend like I did. I had a hunch that seeing you again was the only way she was going to find her way out of the darkness, whatever that might mean.