Николас Спаркс - The Longest Ride

“And now he wants you back.”

“Yeah, but why? Is it because he wants me, or is it because he can’t have me?”

“Are you asking me?”

“I’m asking for your perspective. Not because I’ll take him back, because I won’t. I’m asking you as a guy.”

When he spoke, his words were measured. “A bit of both, probably. But from what I can tell, I’d guess it’s because he realized he made a big mistake.”

She absorbed the unspoken compliment in silence, appreciating his understated ways. “I’m glad I got to watch you ride tonight,” she said, knowing she meant it. “I thought you did really well.”

“I got lucky. I felt pretty rusty out there. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden.”

“How long?”

He brushed at his jeans, buying time before he answered. “Eighteen months.”

For an instant, she thought she’d heard him wrong. “You haven’t ridden in a year and a half?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She had the sense he was debating how to answer. “My last ride before tonight was a bad one.”

“How bad?”

“Pretty bad.”

At his response, Sophia felt it click into place. “Big Ugly Critter,” she said.

“That’s the one,” he admitted. Warding off her next question, he focused on her again. “So you live in a sorority, huh?”

She noted the change of subject but was content to follow his lead. “It’s my third year in the house.”

His eyes glinted mischievously. “Is it really like people say? All pajama parties and pillow fights?”

“Of course not,” she said. “It’s more like negligees and pillow fights.”

“I think I’d like living in a place like that.”

“I’ll bet.” She laughed.

“So what’s it really like?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

“It’s a bunch of girls who live together, and most of the time, it’s okay. Other times, not so much. It’s a world with its own set of rules and hierarchy, which is fine if you buy into those things. But I’ve never really drunk the Kool-Aid… I’m from New Jersey, and I grew up working in a struggling family business. The only reason I can even afford to go to Wake is because I’m on a full academic scholarship. There aren’t a lot of people in the house like me. I’m not saying that everyone else is rich, because they aren’t. And a lot of the girls in the house had jobs in high school. It’s just that…”

“You’re different,” he said, finishing for her. “I bet many of your sorority sisters wouldn’t be caught dead checking out a bull in the middle of a cow pasture.”

I wouldn’t be so sure about that, she thought. He was the winner of tonight’s rodeo, and he definitely qualified as eye candy, in Marcia’s words. For some of the girls in the house, that would have been more than enough.

“You said you have horses at your ranch?” she asked.

“We do,” he said.

“Do you ride them a lot?”

“Most days,” he answered. “When I’m checking on the cattle. I could use the Gator, but I grew up doing it on horseback, and that’s what I’m used to.”

“Do you ever just ride for fun?”

“Every now and then. Why? Do you ride?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve never ridden. There aren’t too many horses in Jersey City. But growing up, I always wanted to. I think all little girls do.” She paused. “What’s your horse’s name?”

“Horse.”

Sophia waited for the joke, but it didn’t come. “You call your horse ‘Horse’?”

“He doesn’t mind.”

“You should give him a noble name. Like Prince or Chief or something.”

“It might confuse him now.”

“Trust me. Anything is better than Horse. It’s like naming a dog Dog.”

“I have a dog named Dog. Australian Cattle Dog.” He turned, his expression utterly matter-of-fact. “Great herder.”

“And your mom didn’t complain?”

“My mom named him.”

She shook her head. “My roommate is never going to believe this.”

“What? That my animals have – in your mind – strange names?”

“Among other things,” she teased.

“So tell me about college,” he said, and for the next half hour, she filled in the details about her daily life. Even to her ears, it sounded dull – classes, studying, social life on the weekends – but he seemed interested, asking questions now and then, but for the most part allowing her to ramble. She described the sorority – especially Mary-Kate – and a little about Brian and how he’d been behaving since school started. As they talked, people began to drift through the lot, some threading among the trucks with a tip of their hats, others stopping to congratulate Luke on his rides.

As the evening rolled on and the temperature dropped, Sophia felt goose bumps form on her arms. She crossed her arms, hunkering down in her chair.

“I’ve got a blanket in the cab if you need it,” he offered.

“Thanks,” she said, “but that’s okay. I should probably be getting back. I don’t want my friends to leave without me.”

“I figured,” he said. “I’ll walk you back.”

He helped her down from the pickup and they retraced their earlier path, the music growing louder as they approached. Soon they were standing outside the barn, which was only slightly less crowded than it had been when she’d left. Somehow it felt as though she’d been gone for hours.

“Do you want me to come in with you? In case Brian is still around?”

“No,” she said. “I’ll be fine. I’ll stick close to my roommate.”

He studied the ground, then raised his eyes. “I had a nice time talking to you, Sophia.”

“Me too,” she said. “And thanks again. For earlier, I mean.”

“I was glad to help.”

He nodded and turned, Sophia watching as he started away. It would have ended there – and later she would wonder whether she should have let it – but instead she took a step after him, the words coming out automatically.

“Luke,” she called. “Wait.”

When he faced her, she raised her chin slightly. “You said you were going to show me your barn. Supposedly, it’s more rickety than this one.”

He smiled, flashing his dimples. “One o’clock tomorrow?” he asked. “I’ve got some things to do in the morning. How about if I pick you up?”

“I can drive,” she said. “Just text me the directions.”

“I don’t have your number.”

“What’s yours?”

When he told her, she dialed it, hearing the ring a few feet away. She ended the call and stared at him, wondering what had gotten into her.

“Now you do.”

5

Ira

It’s growing even darker now, and the late winter weather has continued to worsen. The winds have risen to a shriek, and the windows of the car are thick with snow. I am slowly being buried alive, and I think again about the car. It is cream colored, a 1988 Chrysler, and I wonder whether it will be spotted once the sun has come up. Or whether it will simply blend into the surroundings.

“You must not think these things,” I hear Ruth say. “Someone will come. It won’t be long now.”

She’s sitting where she’d been before, but she looks different now. Slightly older and wearing a different dress… but the dress seems vaguely familiar. I am struggling to recall a memory of her like this when I hear her voice again.

“It was the summer of 1940. July.”

It takes a moment before it comes back. Yes , I think to myself. That’s right. The summer after I’d finished my first year of college. “I remember,” I say.

“Now you remember,” she teases. “But you needed my help. You used to remember everything.”

“I used to be younger.”