Николас Спаркс - The Choice

“He’ll have to stand in line. Megan already volunteered Joe to go first. Something about not spending enough time with the family after work.”

Listening to their familiar banter, Gabby felt like a spectator. She wished that Stephanie hadn’t left her side; oddly, she realized, Stephanie already felt like the closest thing she had to a friend in Beaufort.

“Hold on!” Stephanie shouted, rotating the wheel.

Travis instinctively grabbed the side of the boat as it hit a large wake and the bow rose and fell with a thud. Allison’s attention was diverted to the kids, and she rushed toward Josie, who’d fallen and was already beginning to cry. Laird pulled her to her feet with one arm.

“You were supposed to be holding her!” Allison reproached him while reaching for Josie. “Come here, baby. Mommy’s got you. . . .”

“I was holding her!” Laird protested. “Maybe if Dale Earnhardt here was watching where she was going . . .”

“Don’t bring me into this,” Stephanie said, tossing her head. “I said to hold on, but I guess you didn’t listen. It’s not like I can control the swells out here.”

“But you could go a little slower. . . .”

Travis shook his head and took a seat beside Gabby.

“Is it always like this?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” he said. “At least since the kids have been around. Rest assured that each of the kids will have a few tearful moments today. But that’s what keeps it interesting.” He leaned back, planting his feet wide. “How’d you like my sister?”

With the sun behind him, his features were difficult to discern. “I like her. She’s . . . unique.”

“She seems taken with you, too. If she didn’t like you, believe me—she would have let me know. As smart as she is, she doesn’t always know when to keep her opinions to herself. If you ask me, I think she was secretly adopted by my parents.”

“I don’t think so. If you let your hair grow a little longer, you two could pass for sisters.”

He laughed. “You sound like her now.”

“I guess she rubbed off on me.”

“Did you get a chance to meet everyone else?”

“Briefly. I visited with Allison for a bit, but that’s all.”

“They’re the nicest bunch of people you’ll ever meet,” Travis said. “More like family than friends.”

She studied Travis as he pulled the baseball cap from his head, suddenly grasping what had happened. “Stephanie sent you back here to talk to me, didn’t she.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “She reminded me that you were my guest and that I’d be rude if I didn’t make sure you were comfortable.”

“I’m fine.” She waved a hand. “If you want to go drive the boat again, feel free. I’m perfectly happy enjoying the view.”

“Have you ever been over to Cape Lookout?” Travis asked.

“No.”

“It’s a national park, and there’s a cove that’s great for little kids because the waves don’t break there. And on the far side—the Atlantic side—there’s a white-sand beach that’s unspoiled, which is almost impossible to find anymore.”

When he was finished, Gabby watched as he turned his attention to Beaufort. The profile of the town was visible; just beyond the marina where the masts of sailboats pointed toward the sky like upraised fingers, she could see the restaurants lining the waterfront. In every direction, there were boats and Jet Skis zipping past, leaving whitewashed curls of water behind them. Despite herself, she was conscious of the gentle way his body leaned against hers as the boat glided through the water.

“It’s a pretty town,” she finally said.

“I’ve always loved it,” he agreed. “Growing up, I used to dream about moving to a big city, but in the end, this is home for me.”

They turned toward the inlet. Behind them, Beaufort grew smaller; up ahead, the waters of Onslow Bay embraced the Atlantic. A solitary cloud drifted overhead, puffy and full, as if molded from snow. The gentle blue sky spread over water speckled with golden prisms of sunlight. In time, the hectic activity of Back Sound gave way to a sense of isolation, broken only by the sight of an occasional boat pulling into the shallows of Shackleford Banks. The three couples at the front of the boat were as transfixed by the view as she was, and even the kids seemed to have quieted. They sat contentedly on laps, their bodies relaxed, as if they were ready for a nap. Gabby could feel the wind whipping through her hair and the balm of the summer sun.

“Hey, Trav,” Stephanie called out, “is this okay?”

Travis broke from his reverie and glanced around.

“Let’s go a bit farther. I want to make sure we have enough room. We’ve got a rookie on board.”

Stephanie nodded, and the boat accelerated again.

Gabby leaned toward him. “How does this work, by the way?”

“It’s easy,” he said. “First, I fill the parachute and get it ready to accept the harnesses by using that bar over there.” He pointed toward the corner of the boat. “Then, you and your partner put the harnesses on, I clip those to the long bar, and you take a seat on the platform. I start the crank and you lift off. It takes a couple of minutes to reach the right height, and then . . . well, you float around. You get a great view of Beaufort and the lighthouse, and—because the weather’s been so clear—you might get to see some dolphins, porpoises, rays, sharks, even turtles. I’ve seen whales on occasion. We might slow the boat, let you dunk your feet, and then go up again. It’s a blast.”

“Sharks?”

“Of course. It’s the ocean.”

“Do they bite?”

“Some do. Bull sharks can be pretty nasty.”

“Then I’d rather not be dunked, thank you very much.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. They won’t bother you.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“I’ve never, in all the years I’ve done this, heard of anyone getting bitten by a shark while parasailing. You’re in the water for maybe two or three seconds at the most. And usually sharks feed at dusk.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“How about if I’m with you? Then would you try it? You shouldn’t miss it.”

She hesitated, then gave a quick nod. “I’ll think about it,” she offered. “I’m not promising anything.”

“Fair enough.”

“Of course, you’re assuming that you and I will go up together.”

He winked as he flashed that smile of his. “Of course.”

Gabby tried to ignore the leaping sensation in her stomach. Instead, she reached for her bag and pulled out some lotion. After dabbing a bit on her hand, she began nervously to apply some to her face, trying to regain some distance.

“Stephanie tells me you’re a world traveler.”

“I’ve traveled a bit.”

“She made it sound like more than that. Like you’ve pretty much been everywhere.”

He shook his head. “I wish. Believe me, there are lots of places I haven’t seen.”

“What’s been your favorite place?”

He took a while to answer, a wistful expression on his face. “I don’t know.”

“Well . . . where would you suggest I go?”

“It’s not like that,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Traveling has less to do with seeing things than experiencing them. . . .” He surveyed the water, gathering his thoughts. “Let me put it this way. When I graduated from college, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, so I just decided to take a year to see the world. I had a bit of money saved—not as much as I thought I needed—but I packed some gear and my bike and caught a flight to Europe. I spent the first three months there just . . . doing whatever I felt like, and it rarely had anything to do with what I was supposed to see. I didn’t even have a planned itinerary. Don’t get me wrong—I saw a lot. But when I think back on those months, I mostly remember the friends I made along the way and the good times we spent together. Like in Italy, I saw the Colosseum in Rome and the canals in Venice, but what I really remember was a weekend I spent in Bari—this out-of-the-way city in the southern part of the country that you’ve probably never heard of—with some Italian students I happened to meet. They took me to this little bar where a local band was playing, and even though most of them didn’t speak a word of English and my Italian was limited to menu items, we ended up laughing all night long. After that, they showed me around Lecce and Matera, and little by little, we became good friends. Same type of thing in France and Norway and Germany. I stayed in hostels when I had to, but most of the time I’d just show up in a city and somehow meet someone who would offer to let me stay with them for a little while. I’d find odd jobs to pick up extra spending money, and when I was ready for someplace new, I’d just take off. At first, I thought it was easy because Europe and America are a lot alike. But the same thing happened when I went to Syria and Ethiopia and South Africa and Japan and China. At times, it almost felt like I was destined to take the trip, like all the people I met had somehow been waiting for me. But . . .”