Nicholas Sparks - A Bend in the Road

“Not for him. To be honest, I wasn’t surprised at all, but you’d have to meet him to know what I’m talking about.” He shook his head slightly, as if disgusted.

“How did your mother die?” Sarah asked gently.

A strange, shuttered expression crossed his face, and Sarah immediately regretted bringing it up. She leaned forward. “I’m sorry-that was rude. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay,” Miles said quietly. “I don’t mind. It happened a long time ago, so it’s not hard to talk about. It’s just that I haven’t talked about it in years. I can’t remember the last time someone asked about my mother.” Miles drummed his fingers absently on the table before sitting up a little straighter. He spoke matter-of-factly, almost as if he were talking about someone he didn’t know. Sarah recognized the tone: It was the way she spoke of Michael now.

“My mom started having these pains in her stomach. Sometimes, she couldn’t even sleep at night. Deep down, I think she knew how serious it was, and by the time she finally went in to see the doctor, the cancer had spread to her pancreas and liver. There was nothing that anyone could do. She passed away less than three weeks later.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

“So am I,” he said. “I think you would have liked her.”

“I’m sure I would have.”

They were interrupted by the waiter as he approached the table and took their drink orders. As if on cue, both Sarah and Miles reached for the menus and read them quickly.

“So what’s good?” she asked.

“Everything, really.”

“No special recommendations?”

“I’ll probably get a steak of some sort.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

He glanced up. “You have something against steak?”

“Not at all. You just didn’t strike me as the tofu and salad type.” She closed her menu. “I, on the other hand, have to watch my girlish figure.” “So what are you getting?”

She smiled. “A steak.”

Miles closed his menu and pushed it off to the side of the table. “So, now that we’ve covered my life, why don’t you tell me about yours? What was it like growing up in your family?”

Sarah set her menu on top of his.

“Unlike what you had, my parentswere Ward and June Cleaver. We lived in a suburb just outside Baltimore in the most typical of houses-four bedrooms, two bathrooms, complete with a porch, flower garden, and a white picket fence. I rode the bus to school with my neighbors, played in the front yard all weekend long, and had the biggest collection of Barbies on the whole block. Dad worked from nine to five and wore a suit every day: Mom stayed home, and I don’t think I ever saw her without an apron. And our house always smelled like a bakery. Mom made cookies for me and my brother every day, and we’d eat them in the kitchen and recite what we learned that day.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was. My mom was great when we were little kids. She was the kind of mom that the other kids ran to if they hurt themselves or got in a jam of some sort. It wasn’t until my brother and I got older that she started to get neurotic on me.” Miles raised both eyebrows. “Now, was it that she changed, or was she always neurotic and you were too young to notice?”

“That sounds like something Sylvia would say.”

“Sylvia?”

“A friend of mine,” she said evasively, “a good friend.” If Miles sensed her hesitation, he gave no notice.

Their drinks arrived and the waiter took their order. As soon as he was gone, Miles leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers.

“What’s your brother like?”

“Brian? He’s a nice kid. I swear, he’s more grown-up than most people I work with. But he’s shy and not real good at meeting people. He tends to be a little introspective, but when we’re together, we just click and always have. That’s one of the main reasons I came back here. I wanted to spend some time with him before he headed off to college. He just started at UNC.” Miles nodded. “So, he’s a lot younger than you,” he said, and Sarah looked up at him.

“Nota lot younger.”

“Well… enough. You’re what, forty? Forty-five?” he said, repeating what she’d said to him the first time they’d met.

She laughed. “A girl’s got to stay on her toes around you.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the guys you date.”

“Actually, I’m out of practice,” she said. “I haven’t dated much since my divorce.”

Miles lowered his drink. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“A girl like you? I’m sure you’ve been asked out a lot.”

“That doesn’t mean I say yes.”

“Playing hard to get?” Miles teased.

“No,” she said. “I just didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

“So you’re a heartbreaker, huh?”

She didn’t answer right away, her eyes staring down at the table.

“No, not a heartbreaker,” she said quietly. “Brokenhearted.” Her words surprised him. Miles searched for a lighthearted response, but after seeing her expression, he decided to say nothing at all. For a few moments, Sarah seemed to be lost in a world all her own. Finally she turned toward Miles with an almost embarrassed smile.

“Sorry about that. Kind of ruined the mood, huh?”

“Not at all,” Miles answered quickly. He reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Besides, you should realize that my moods don’t get ruined all that easily,” he continued. “Now, if you’d thrown your drink in my face and called me a scoundrel…”

Despite her obvious tension, Sarah laughed.

“You’d have a problem with that?” she asked, feeling herself relax. “Probably,” he said with a wink. “But even then-considering it’s a first date and all-I might let that pass, too.”

It was half-past ten when they finished dinner, and as they stepped outside, Sarah was certain that she didn’t want the date to end just yet. Dinner had been wonderful, their conversation liberally greased by a bottle of excellent red wine. She wanted to spend more time with Miles, but she wasn’t quite ready to invite him up to her apartment. Behind them, just a few feet away, a car engine was clicking as it cooled, the sounds muffled and sporadic. “Would you like to head over to the Tavern?” Miles suggested. “It’s not that far.”

Sarah agreed with a nod, pulling her jacket tighter as they started down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, walking close together. The sidewalks were deserted, and as they passed art galleries and antique stores, a realty office, a pastry shop, a bookstore, nothing appeared to be open at all. “Just where is this place, exactly?”

“This way,” he said, motioning with his arm. “It’s just up and around the corner.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“I’m not surprised,” he said. “This is a local hangout, and the owner’s attitude is that if you don’t know about the place, then you probably don’t belong there anyway.”

“So how do they stay in business?”

“They manage,” he said cryptically.

A minute later, they rounded the corner. Though a number of cars were parked along the street, there were no signs of life. It was almost eerie. Halfway down the block, Miles stopped at the mouth of a small alley carved between two buildings, one of which looked all but abandoned. Toward the rear, about forty feet back, a single light bulb dangled crookedly.

“This is it,” he said. Sarah hesitated and Miles took her hand, leading her down the alley, finally stopping under the light. Above the buckled doorway, the name of the establishment was written in Magic Marker. She could hear music coming from within.