Nicholas Sparks - A Bend in the Road

I saw him pick up around the house, sliding items into drawers. I saw him cook dinner. I watched him drink beer and smoke cigarettes on the back porch, when he thought no one was around. But most of all, I watched him as he sat in the kitchen.

There, concentrating, one hand moving through his hair, he stared at the file. At first I assumed he brought his work home with him, but gradually I came to the conclusion that I was wrong. It wasn’t different cases that he was studying, it was a single case, since the file never seemed to change. It was then, with a sudden jolt of comprehension, that I knew what the file was about. I knew that he was looking for me, this person who watched him through the windows. Again, after that, I justified what I was doing. I started coming to see him, to study his features as he peered at the file, to look for an “aha,” followed by a frantic phone call that would portend a visit to my home. To know when the end would come.

When I would finally leave the window to return to my car, I would feel weak, completely spent. I would swear that it was over, that I’d never do it again. That I would let them lead their lives without intrusion. The urge to watch them would be satiated and guilt would set in, and on those evenings, I would despise what I had done. I would pray for forgiveness, and there were times I wanted to kill myself.

From someone who once had dreams of proving myself to the world, I now hated who I had become.

But then, no matter how much I wanted to stop, no matter how much I wanted to die, the urge would come again. I’d fight it until I could fight no longer, then I’d say to myself that this would be the last time. The very last. And then, like a vampire, I would creep out into the night.

That night, while Miles studied the file in the kitchen, Jonah had his first nightmare in weeks.

It took Miles a moment to register the sound. He’d studied the file until nearly two in the morning; that, coupled with the all-night shift the evening before and everything that had happened during the day, had drained him completely, and his body seemed to rebel when he heard Jonah’s cries. Like being forced to move through a room filled with wet cotton, consciousness returned slowly, and even as he moved toward Jonah’s room, it was more of a Pavlovian response than a desire to comfort his son.

It was early in the morning, a few minutes before dawn. Miles carried Jonah to the porch; by the time his cries finally stopped, the sun was already up. Because it was Saturday and he didn’t have to go to school, Miles carried Jonah back to the bedroom and started a pot of coffee. His head was pounding, so he took two aspirin and washed them down with orange juice. He felt as if he had a hangover.

While the coffee was brewing, Miles retrieved the file and the notes he’d made the night before; he wanted to go over them one more time before heading into work. Jonah surprised him, however, by returning to the kitchen before he had a chance to do so. He padded in, his eyes puffy as he rubbed them, then sat at the table.

“Why are you up?” Miles asked. “It’s still early.”

“I’m not tired,” Jonah answered.

“You look tired.”

“I had a bad dream.”

Jonah’s words caught Miles off-guard. Jonah never remembered having the dreams before.

“You did?”

Jonah nodded. “I dreamed you were in an accident. Like Mommy was.” Miles went to Jonah’s side. “It was just a dream,” he said. “Nothing happened, okay?”

Jonah wiped his nose with the back of his hand. In his race car pajamas, he looked younger than he was.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, not at all. Why would you think I’m mad?”

“You didn’t talk to me at all yesterday.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t mad at you. I was just trying to figure out some stuff.”

“About Mommy?”

Miles was caught off-guard again. “Why do you think it’s about Mommy?” he asked. “Because you were looking at those papers again.” Jonah pointed to the file on the table. “They’re about Mommy, aren’t they?”

After a moment, Miles nodded. “Kind of.”

“I don’t like those papers.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he said, “they make you sad.”

“They don’t make me sad.”

“Yeah, they do,” Jonah said. “And they make me sad, too.”

“Because you miss Mommy?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “because they make you forget about me.”

The words made Miles’s throat constrict. “That’s not true.”

“Then why didn’t you talk to me yesterday?”

He sounded almost on the verge of tears, and Miles pulled Jonah closer. “I’m sorry, Jonah. It won’t happen again.”

Jonah looked up at him. “Do you promise?”

Miles made an X over his chest and smiled. “Cross my heart.”

“And hope to die?”

With Jonah’s wide eyes piercing him, that was exactly what Miles felt like doing.

After having breakfast with Jonah, Miles called Sarah to apologize to her as well. Sarah interrupted before he had a chance to finish. “Miles, you don’t have to say you’re sorry. After all that happened, it was pretty obvious that you needed to be alone. How are you feeling this morning?” “I’m not sure. About the same, I guess.”

“Are you going in to work?”

“I have to. Charlie called. He wants me to meet him in a little while.”

“Will you call me later?”

“If I get the chance. I’ll probably be pretty tied up today.”

“With the investigation, you mean?”

When Miles didn’t answer, Sarah twirled a few strands of hair. “Well, if you need to talk and can’t reach me, I’ll be at my mom’s house.” “Okay.”

Even after hanging up the phone, Sarah couldn’t escape the feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

By nine in the morning, Charlie was working on his fourth cup of coffee and told Madge to keep them coming. He’d slept only a couple of hours and had made it back to the station before the sun had risen.

He’d been busy ever since. He’d met with Harvey, interviewed Otis in his cell, and spent some time with Thurman Jones. He’d also called in extra deputies to look for Sims Addison. So far, nothing.

He had, though, come to some decisions.

Miles arrived twenty minutes later and found Charlie waiting for him outside his office.

“You doing okay?” Charlie asked, thinking Miles looked no better than he did.

“Tough night.”

“Tough day, too. Need some coffee?”

“Had plenty at the house.”

He motioned over his shoulder. “C’mon in, then-we have to talk.” After Miles entered, Charlie closed the door behind him and Miles sat in the chair. Charlie leaned against the desk.

“Listen, before we begin,” Miles started, “I guess you should know that I’ve been working on this since yesterday, and I think I might have some ideas-” Charlie shook his head, not letting him finish. “Look, Miles, that’s not why I wanted to see you. Right now, I need you to listen, okay?” There was something in his expression that told Miles he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear, and he stiffened.

Charlie glanced at the tile floor, then back at Miles again. “I’m not going to beat around the bush here. We’ve known each other too long for that.” He paused.

“What is it?”

“I’m going to release Otis Timson today.”

Miles’s mouth opened, but before he said anything, Charlie raised his hands. “Now before you think I’m jumping to conclusions, hear me out. I didn’t have a choice, not based on the information that I have so far. Yesterday, after you left, I went up to visit with Earl Getlin.”