Nicholas Sparks - The Best of Me

But like I said, she’s hurting, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that people in pain don’t always see things as clearly as they should. She’s at the point in her life where she has to make some decisions, and that’s where you come in. Both of you need to figure out what happens next, but keep in mind that she might need more time than you do. She might even change her mind once or twice. But once it’s finally decided, both of you need to accept the decision. And if it somehow doesn’t work out between you, then you’ve got to understand that you can’t look back anymore. It’ll destroy you in the end, and destroy her as well. Neither one of you can keep living with regret, because it drains the life right out of you, and the very idea is enough to break my heart. After all, if I’ve come to think of Amanda as my daughter, I’ve come to think of you as my son. And if I had a single dying wish, it would be to know that both of you, my two children, are somehow going to be all right.

Tuck

Amanda watched her mom test the decaying floorboards of the porch, as though fearing she might fall through. She hesitated again at the rocker, trying to decide whether it was actually necessary to sit down.

Amanda felt a familiar weariness as her mother lowered herself carefully into the chair. She perched in such a way as to touch as little of it as possible.

Once settled, her mother turned to regard her, seemingly content to wait for Amanda to speak first, but Amanda stayed quiet. She knew there was nothing she could say that would make this conversation easier, and she deliberately faced away, watching the play of sunlight as it filtered through the canopy.

Finally, her mother rolled her eyes. “Really, Amanda. Stop acting like a child. I’m not your enemy. I’m your mother.”

“I know what you’re going to say.” Amanda’s voice was flat.

“That may very well be the case, but even so, one of the responsibilities of being a parent is to make sure your children know when they’re making mistakes.”

“Is that what you think this is?” Amanda’s narrowed gaze snapped back to her mother.

“What would you call it? You’re a married woman.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“You’re certainly not acting like it,” she said. “You’re not the first woman in the world who’s been unhappy in her marriage. Nor are you the first to act on that unhappiness. The difference with you is that you continue to think that it’s someone else’s fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Amanda could feel her hands tightening around the arms of her rocker.

“You blame people, Amanda.” Her mother sniffed. “You blame me, you blame Frank, and after Bea, you even blamed God. You look anywhere besides the mirror for the cause of the problems in your life. Instead, you walk around feeling like a martyr. ‘Poor little Amanda struggling against all odds in a hard and cruel world.’ The truth is, the world isn’t easy for any of us. It never has been, and it never will be. But if you were honest with yourself, you’d understand that you’re not entirely innocent in all this, either.”

Amanda clenched her teeth. “And here I was, hoping that you were capable of even the tiniest flicker of empathy or understanding. I guess I was wrong.”

“Is that what you really think?” Evelyn asked, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on her clothing. “Tell me then — what should I be saying to you? Should I hold your hand and ask how you’re feeling? Should I lie to you and tell you that everything is going to be just fine? That there aren’t going to be any consequences, even if you somehow manage to keep Dawson a secret?” She paused. “There are always consequences, Amanda. You’re old enough to know that. Do you really need me to remind you?”

Amanda willed herself to keep her voice steady. “You’re missing my point.”

“And you’re missing mine. You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“I know you, Mom.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. In your words I’m incapable of even a flicker of sympathy or understanding.” She touched the small diamond stud in her earlobe. “Of course, that begs the question as to why I covered for you last night.”

“What?”

“When Frank called. The first time, I acted like I suspected nothing at all while he rambled on about some golf thing he planned to do tomorrow with a friend named Roger. And then later, when he called back a second time, I told him that you were already asleep, even when I knew exactly what you were up to. I knew you were with Dawson, and by dinner, I knew that you weren’t coming back.”

“How could you know that?” Amanda demanded, trying to mask her shock.

“Have you never noticed how small Oriental is? There are only so many places to stay in town. On my first call, I spoke to Alice Russell at the bed-and-breakfast. We had a pleasant conversation, by the way. She told me that Dawson had checked out, but simply knowing that he was in town was enough for me to figure out what was going on. I suppose that’s why I’m here, instead of waiting for you at the house. I thought we could just skip the lying and denying altogether. I thought it would make our conversation a bit easier for you.”

Amanda felt almost dizzy. “Thank you,” she mumbled. “For not telling Frank.”

“It’s not my place to tell Frank anything, or to say anything that would add more trouble to your marriage. What you tell Frank is your own business. As far as I’m concerned, nothing happened at all.”

Amanda swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. “Then why are you here?”

Her mother sighed. “Because you’re my daughter. You may not want to talk to me, but I do expect you to listen.” Amanda caught the whiff of disappointment in her mom’s tone. “I have no desire to hear the tawdry details of what went on last night, or hear how awful I was for not accepting Dawson in the first place. Nor do I want to discuss your problems with Frank. What I’d like to do instead is to give you some advice. As your mother. Despite what you might think sometimes, you are my daughter and I care about you. The question is, are you willing to listen?”

“Yes.” Amanda’s voice was barely audible. “What should I do?”

Her mother’s face lost all its stiff artifice and her voice was surprisingly soft. “It’s really very simple,” she said. “Don’t take my advice.”

Amanda waited for more but her mother remained quiet, adding nothing to her comment. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Are you telling me to leave Frank?” she finally whispered.

“No.”

“Then I should try to work things out with him?”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t read so much into it.” Her mother rose, straightening her jacket. She moved toward the steps.

Amanda blinked, trying to grasp what was happening. “Wait… you’re leaving? You didn’t say anything.”

Her mom turned. “On the contrary. I said everything that matters.”

“Don’t take your advice?”

“Exactly,” her mom said. “Don’t take my advice. Or anyone’s advice. Trust yourself. For good or for bad, happy or unhappy, it’s your life, and what you do with it has always been entirely up to you.” She placed one polished leather pump on the creaky first step, her face becoming masklike again. “Now, I suppose I’ll see you later? When you come home to get your things?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll put out some finger sandwiches and fruit.” With that, she continued down the steps. At her car, she noticed Dawson standing in the garage and she studied him briefly before turning away. Once behind the wheel, she started the engine, and then, all at once, she was gone.