Nicholas Sparks - A Bend in the Road

“Impressive,” she said.

“Nothing but the best for you.”

“Do I detect a note of sarcasm?”

Miles laughed as he pushed open the door, leading Sarah inside. Built into what appeared to have been the abandoned building, the Tavern was dingy and faintly redolent of mildewed wood, but surprisingly large. Four pool tables stood in the rear beneath glowing lamps that advertised different beers; a long bar ran along the far wall. An old-fashioned jukebox flanked the doorway, and a dozen tables were spread haphazardly throughout. The floor was concrete and the wooden chairs were mismatched, but that didn’t seem to matter. It was packed.

People thronged the bar and tables; crowds formed and dispersed around the pool tables. Two women, wearing a little too much makeup, leaned against the jukebox, their tightly clad bodies swaying in rhythm as they read through the titles, figuring out what they wanted to play next.

Miles looked at her, amused. “Surprising, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it. It’s so crowded.” “It is every weekend.” He scanned the room quickly, looking for someplace to sit.

“There’re some seats in the back…,” she offered.

“Those are for the people who’re playing pool.”

“Well, do you want to play a game?”

“Pool?”

“Why not? There’s a table open. Besides, it’s probably not as loud back there.”

“You’re on. Let me go set it up with the bartender. Do you want a drink?”

“Coors Light, if they’ve got it.”

“I’m sure they do. I’ll meet you at the table, okay?”

With that, Miles headed toward the bar, threading his way through the crush of people. Wedging himself between a couple of stools, he raised his hand to get the bartender’s attention. Based on the number of people waiting, it looked like it might take a while.

It was warm, and Sarah took off her jacket. As she folded it under her arm, she heard the door open behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she moved aside to make room for two men. The first, with tattoos and long hair, looked downright dangerous; the second, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, couldn’t have been more different, and she wondered what they could possibly have in common. Until she looked a little closer. It was then that she decided the second one scared her more. Something in his expression, in the way he held himself, seemed infinitely more menacing.

She was thankful when the first one walked by without seeming to notice her. The other, though, paused as soon as he drew close, and she could feel his eyes on her.

“I haven’t seen you around here before. What’s your name?” he said suddenly. She could feel the cool appraisal in his gaze.

“Sylvia,” she lied.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“No, thank you,” she answered with a shake of her head.

“You want to come and sit with me and my brother, then?”

“I’m with someone,” she said.

“I don’t see anyone.”

“He’s at the bar.”

“C’mon, Otis!” the tattooed man shouted. Otis ignored him, his eyes locked on Sarah. “You sure you don’t want that drink, Sylvia?”

“Positive,” she said.

“Why not?” he asked. For some reason, even though the words came out calmly, even politely, she could feel their undercurrent of anger. “I told you-I’m with someone,” she said stepping back.

“C’mon, Otis! I need a drink!”

Otis Timson glanced toward the sound, then faced Sarah again and smiled, as if they were at a cocktail party instead of a dive. “I’ll be around if you change your mind, Sylvia,” he said smoothly.

As soon as he was gone, Sarah exhaled sharply and plunged into the crowd, making her way toward the pool tables, getting as far away from him as possible. When she got there, she set her coat on one of the unoccupied stools and Miles arrived with the beers a moment later. One look was enough to let him know that something had happened.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, handing her the bottle of Coors. “Just some jerk trying to pick me up. He kind of gave me the creeps. I’d forgotten what it’s like in places like this.”

Miles’s expression darkened slightly. “Did he do anything?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

He seemed to study her answer. “You sure?”

Sarah hesitated. “Yeah, I’m sure,” she finally said. Then, touched by his concern, she tapped her bottle against his with a wink, putting the incident out of her mind. “Now, do you want to rack or should I?”

After taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, Miles retrieved two pool cues from a mount on the wall.

“Now the rules are fairly simple,” Miles began. “Balls one through seven are

solid, balls nine through fifteen are stripes-”

“I know,” she said, waving a hand at him.

He looked up in surprise. “You’ve played before?”

“I think everyone’s played at least once.”

Miles handed her the pool cue. “Then I guess we’re ready. Do you want to break?

Or should I?”

“No-go ahead.”

Sarah watched as Miles went around to the head of the table, chalking his pool cue as he did so. Then, leaning over, he set his hand, drew back the cue stick, and hit the ball cleanly. A loud crack sounded, the balls scattered around the table, and the four ball rolled toward the corner pocket, dropping neatly from view. He looked up.

“That makes me solid.”

“I never doubted it for a minute,” she said.

Miles surveyed the table, deciding on his next shot, and once again, Sarah was struck by how different he was from Michael. Michael didn’t play pool, and he certainly would never have brought Sarah to a place like this. He wouldn’t have been comfortable here, and he wouldn’t have fit in-any more than Miles would have fit neatly into the world that Sarah used to occupy. Yet as he stood before her without his jacket, his shirtsleeves rolled up, Sarah couldn’t help but acknowledge her attraction. In contrast with a lot of people who drank too much beer with their evening pizza, Miles looked almost lean. He didn’t have classic movie-star good looks, but his waist was narrow, his stomach flat, and his shoulders reassuringly broad. But it was more than that. There was something in his eyes, in the expressions he wore, that spoke of the challenges he’d faced over the last two years, something she recognized when looking in the mirror.

The jukebox fell silent for a moment, then picked up again with “Born in the USA ” by Bruce Springsteen. The air was thick with cigarette smoke despite the ceiling fans that whirred above them. Sarah heard the dull roar of others laughing and joking all around them, yet as she watched Miles, it seemed almost as if they were alone. Miles sank another shot.

With a practiced eye, he looked over the table as the balls settled. He moved around to the other side and took another shot, but this time he missed the mark. Seeing that it was her turn, Sarah set her beer off to the side and picked up her cue. Miles reached for the chalk, offering it to Sarah. “You’ve got a good shot at the line,” he said, nodding toward the corner of the table. “It’s right there on the edge of the pocket.”

“I see that,” she said, chalking the tip and then setting it aside. Looking over the table, she didn’t set up for her shot right away. As if sensing her hesitation, Miles leaned his cue against one of the stools. “Do you need me to show you how to position your hand on the table?” he offered gamely.

“Sure.”

“Okay, then,” he said. “Make a circle with your forefinger, like this, with your other three fingers on the table.” He demonstrated with his hand on the table. “Like this?” she said, mimicking him.