Dear John(16)
Author: Nicholas Sparks

I knew I’d never know, and I had no intention of delving further.

But with a leaping imagination in a quiet house, I could envision a quiet man who struck up a conversation about his rare coin collection with a poor young waitress at a diner, a woman who spent her evenings lying in bed and dreaming of a better life. Maybe she flirted, or maybe she didn’t, but he was attracted to her and continued to show up at the diner. Over time, she might have sensed the kindness and patience in him that he would later use in raising me.

It was possible that she interpreted his quiet nature accurately as well and knew he would be slow to anger and never violent. Even without love, it might have been enough, so she agreed to marry him, thinking they would sell the coins and live, if not happily ever after, at least comfortably ever after. She got pregnant, and later, when she learned that he couldn’t even fathom the idea of selling the coins, she realized that she’d be stuck with a husband who showed little interest in anything she did. Maybe her loneliness got the better of her, or maybe she was just selfish, but either way she wanted out, and after the baby was born, she took the first opportunity to leave.

Or, I thought, maybe not.

I doubted whether I would ever learn the truth, but I really didn’t care. I did, however, care about my father, and if he was afflicted with a bit of faulty wiring in his brain, I suddenly understood that he’d somehow formed a set of rules for life, rules that helped him fit into the world. Maybe they weren’t quite normal, but he’d nonetheless found a way to help me become the man I was. And to me, that was more than enough.

He was my father, and he’d done his best. I knew that now. And when at last I closed the book and set it aside, I found myself staring out the window, thinking how proud I was of him while trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

When he returned from work, my dad changed his clothes and went to the kitchen to start the spaghetti. I studied him as he went through the motions, knowing I was doing exactly the same thing that I’d grown angry at Savannah for doing. It’s strange how knowledge changes perception.

I noted the precision of his moves—the way he neatly opened the box of spaghetti before setting it aside and the way he worked the spatula in careful right angles as he browned the meat. I knew he would add salt and pepper, and a moment later he did. I knew he would open the can of tomato sauce right after that, and again, I wasn’t proved wrong. As usual, he didn’t ask about my day, preferring to work in silence. Yesterday I’d attributed it to the fact that we were strangers; today I understood that there was a possibility we always would be. But for the first time in my life, it didn’t bother me.

Over dinner I didn’t ask about his day, knowing he wouldn’t answer. Instead, I told him about Savannah and what our time together had been like. Afterward, I helped him with the dishes, continuing our one-sided conversation. Once they were done, he reached for the rag again. He wiped the counter a second time, then rotated the salt and pepper shakers until they were in exactly the same position they’d been in when he arrived home. I had the feeling that he wanted to add to the conversation and didn’t know how, but I suppose I was trying to make myself feel better. It didn’t matter. I knew he was ready to retreat to the den.

“Hey, Dad,” I said. “How about you show me some of the coins you’ve bought lately? I want to hear all about them.”

He stared at me as if uncertain he’d heard me right, then glanced at the floor. He touched his thinning hair, and I saw the growing bald spot on the top of his head. When he looked up at me again, he looked almost scared.

“Okay,” he finally said.

We walked to the den together, and when I felt him place a gentle hand on my back, all I could think was that I hadn’t felt this close to him in years.

Eleven

The following evening, as I stood on the pier admiring the silver play of moonlight on the ocean, I wondered whether Savannah would show. The night before, after spending hours examining coins with my father and enjoying the excitement in his voice as he described them, I drove to the beach. On the seat beside me was the note I’d written to Savannah, asking her to meet me here. I’d left the note in an envelope I’d placed on Tim’s car. I knew that he would pass along the envelope unopened, no matter how much he might not want to. In the short time I’d known him, I’d come to believe that Tim, like my father, was a far better person than I would ever be.

It was the only thing I could think to do. Because of the altercation, I knew I was no longer welcome at the beach house; I also didn’t want to see Randy or Susan or any of the others, which made it impossible to contact Savannah. She didn’t have a cell phone, nor did I know the phone number at the beach house, which left the note as my only option.

I was wrong. I’d overreacted, and I knew it. Not just with her, but with the others on the beach. I should have simply walked away. Randy and his buddies, even if they lifted weights and considered themselves athletes, didn’t stand a chance against someone trained to disable people quickly and efficiently. Had it happened in Germany, I might have found myself locked up for what I’d done. The government wasn’t too fond of those who used governmentacquired skills in ways the government didn’t approve.

So I’d left the note, then watched the clock all the next day, wondering if she would show. As the time I had suggested came and went, I found myself glancing compulsively over my shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief when a figure appeared in the distance. From the way it moved, I knew it had to be Savannah. I leaned against the railing as I waited for her.

She slowed her steps when she spotted me, then came to a stop. No hug, no kiss—the sudden formality made me ache.

“I got your note,” she said. “I’m glad you came.”

“I had to sneak away so no one knew you were here,” she said. “I’ve overheard a few people talking about what they would do if you showed up again.”

“I’m sorry,” I plunged in without preamble. “I know you were just trying to help, and I took it the wrong way.”

“And?”

“And I’m sorry for what I did to Tim. He’s a great guy, and I should have been more careful.”

Her gaze was unblinking. “And?”

I shuffled my feet, knowing I wasn’t really sincere in what I was about to say, but knowing she wanted to hear it anyway. I sighed. “And Randy and the other guy, too.”

Still, she continued to stare. “And?”

I was stumped. I searched my mind before meeting her eyes. “And … ” I trailed off.

“And what?”

“And … ” I tried but couldn’t come up with anything. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “But whatever it is, I’m sorry for that, too.” She wore a curious expression. “That’s it?”

I thought about it. “I don’t know what else to say,” I admitted.

It was half a second before I noticed the tiniest hint of a smile. She moved toward me. “That’s it?” she repeated, her voice softer. I said nothing. She came closer and, surprising me, slipped her arms around my neck.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she whispered. “There’s no reason to be sorry. I probably would have reacted the same way.”

“Then why the inquisition?”

“Because,” she said, “it let me know that I was right about you in the first place. I knew you had a good heart.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just what I said,” she answered. "Later—after that night, I mean—Tim convinced me that I had no right to say what I did.

You were right. I don’t have the ability to do any sort of professional evaluation, but I was arrogant enough to think I did. As for what happened on the beach, I saw the whole thing. It wasn’t your fault. Even what happened to Tim wasn’t your fault, but it was nice to hear you apologize anyway. If only to know you could do it in the future."

She leaned into me, and when I closed my eyes, I knew I wanted nothing more than to hold her this way forever.

Later, after we’d spent a good part of the night talking and kissing on the beach, I ran my finger along her jaw and whispered,

“Thank you.” “For what?”

“For the book. I think I understand my dad a little better now. We had a good time last night.”

“I’m glad.”

“And thanks for being who you are.”

When she wrinkled her brow, I kissed her forehead. “If it wasn’t for you,” I added, “I wouldn’t have been able to say that about my dad. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

# * *

Though she was supposed to work at the site the following day, Tim had been understanding when she explained that it would be the last chance for us to see each other before I returned to Germany. When

I picked her up, he walked down the steps of the house and squatted next to the car, at eye level with the window. The bruises had darkened to deep black. He stuck his hand through the window.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, John.” “You too,” I said, meaning it.

“Keep safe, okay?”

“I’ll try,” I answered as we shook hands, struck by the feeling that there was a connection between us.

Savannah and I spent the morning at the Fort Fisher Aquarium, bewitched by the strange creatures displayed there. We saw gar with their long noses, and miniature sea horses; in the largest tank were nurse sharks and red drum. We laughed as we handled the hermit crabs, and Savannah bought me a souvenir key chain from the gift shop. For some strange reason there was a penguin on it, which amused her no end.

Afterward, I took her to a sunny restaurant near the water, and we held hands across the table as we watched the sailboats rocking gently in their slips. Lost in each other, we barely noticed the waiter, who had to come to the table three times before we’d even opened our menus.

I marveled at the easy way Savannah showed her emotions and the tenderness of her expression as I told her about my dad. When she kissed me afterward, I tasted the sweetness of her breath. I reached for her hand.

“I’m going to marry you one day, you know.” “Is that a promise?”

“If you want it to be.”

"Well, then you have to promise that you’ll come back for me when you get out of the army. I can’t marry you if you’re not around."

“It’s a deal.”

Later, we strolled the grounds of the Oswald Plantation, a beautifully restored antebellum home that boasted some of the finest gardens in the state. We walked along the gravel paths, skirting clusters of wildflowers that bloomed a thousand different colors in the lazy southern heat.

“What time do you fly out tomorrow?” she asked. The sun was beginning its gradual descent in the cloudless sky.

“Early,” I said. “I’ll probably be at the airport before you wake up.”

She nodded. “And you’ll spend tonight with your dad, right?” “I was planning on it. I probably haven’t spent as much time with him as I should have, but I’m sure he’d understand—” She shook her head to stop me. "No, don’t change your plans.

I want you to spend time with your dad. I was hoping you would. That’s why I’m with you today."

We walked the length of an elaborate hedge-lined path. “So what do you want to do?” I asked. “About us, I mean.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” she said.

“I know it won’t,” I said. “But I don’t want all this to end.” I stopped, knowing words wouldn’t be enough. Instead, from behind, I slipped my arms around her and drew her body into mine. I kissed her neck and ear, savoring her velvety skin. “I’ll call you as much as I can, and I’ll write you when I can’t, and I’ll get another leave next year. Wherever you are, that’s where I’ll go.”

She leaned back, trying to catch a glimpse of my face. “You will?”

I squeezed her. “Of course. I mean, I’m not happy about leaving you, and I wish more than anything that I was stationed nearby, but that’s all I can promise right now. I can request a transfer as soon as I get back, and I will, but you never know how those things go.”

“I know,” she murmured. For whatever reason, her solemn expression made me nervous.

“Will you write me?” I asked.

“Duh,” she teased, and my nervousness disappeared. "Of course

I will,“ she said, smiling. ”How can you even bother to ask? I’ll write you all the time. And just so you know, I write the best letters."

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I’m serious,” she said. “In my family, that’s what we do on just about every holiday. We write letters to those people who we care a lot about. We tell them what they mean to us and how much we look forward to the time when we’ll get to see them again.”

I kissed her neck again. "So what do I mean to you? And how much are you looking forward to seeing me again?“ She leaned back. ”You’ll have to read my letters."

I laughed, but I felt my heart breaking. “I’m going to miss you,” I said.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

“You don’t sound too broken up about it.”

"That’s because I already cried about it, remember? Besides, it’s not like I’ll never see you again. That’s what I finally realized. Yeah, it’ll be hard, but life moves fast—we’ll see each other again. I know that. I can feel that. Just like I can feel how much you care for me and how much I love you. I know in my heart that this isn’t over, and that we’ll make it through this. Lots of couples do. Granted, lots of couples don’t, but they don’t have what we have."

I wanted to believe her. I wanted it more than anything, but I wondered if it was really that simple.

When the sun had disappeared below the horizon, we walked back to the car, and I drove her to the beach house. I stopped a little way down the street so no one in the house could see us, and when we got out of the car, I put my arms around her. We kissed and I held her close, knowing for certain that the next year would be the longest in my life. I wished fervently that I’d never joined up, that I were a free man. But I wasn’t.

“I should probably be going.”