The Best of Me(16)
Author: Nicholas Sparks

He turned toward her. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she said. “Placing flowers at his grave is meaningful, but not invasive.”

He nodded but said nothing. In the silence, Amanda leaned even closer. “Do you know what I’m thinking?” she asked.

“After everything I’ve said, I’m almost afraid to guess.”

“I think you and Tuck are more alike than you realize.”

He turned toward her. “Is that good or bad?”

“I’m still here with you, aren’t I?”

When the heat became stifling even in the shade, Amanda led them back inside. The screen door banged shut gently behind them.

“You ready?” he asked, surveying the kitchen.

“No,” she said. “But I suppose we have to do this. For the record, it still seems wrong to me. I don’t even know how to start.”

Dawson paced the length of the kitchen before turning to face her. “Okay, let’s do this: When you think about your last visit with Tuck, what comes to mind?”

“It was the same as always. He talked about Clara, I made him dinner.” She gave a small shrug. “I put a blanket over his shoulders when he fell asleep in the chair.”

Dawson drew her into the living room and nodded toward the fireplace. “Then maybe you should take the picture.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t do that.”

“You’d rather it be thrown away?”

“No, of course not. But you should take it. You knew him better than I did.”

“Not really,” he said. “He never talked to me about Clara. And when you see it, you’ll think about both of them, not just him, and that’s why he told you about her.”

When she hesitated, he stepped toward the fireplace and gently removed it from the mantel. “He wanted this to be important to you. He wanted the two of them to be important to you.”

She reached for the photo, staring at it. “But if I take this, what’s left for you? I mean, there’s not much here.”

“Don’t worry. There’s something I saw earlier that I’d like to keep.” He moved toward the door. “Come on.”

Amanda followed him down the steps. As they approached the garage it dawned on her: If the house was where she and Tuck had forged their bond, the garage had been that place for Dawson and Tuck. And even before he found it, she already knew what he wanted.

Dawson reached for the faded bandanna folded neatly on the workbench. “This is what he wanted me to have,” he said.

“You sure?” Amanda squinted at the square of red cloth. “It’s not much.”

“It’s the first time I’ve ever noticed a clean one around here, so it has to be for me.” He grinned. “But yeah, I’m sure. To me, this is Tuck. I don’t think I ever saw him without one. Always the same color, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “We’re talking about Tuck, right? Mr. Constant-in-All-Things?”

Dawson tucked the bandanna into his back pocket. “It’s not such a bad thing. Change isn’t always for the best.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, and Amanda didn’t reply. Instead, when he leaned against the Stingray, it triggered something in her memory, and Amanda took a step toward him. “I forgot to ask Tanner what to do with the car.”

“I was thinking that I might as well finish it. Then Tanner can just call the owner to pick it up.”

“Really?”

“As far as I can tell, all the parts are here,” he said, “and I’m pretty sure Tuck would have wanted me to finish it. Besides, you’re going to dinner with your mom, so it’s not like I have anything else to do tonight.”

“How long will it take?” Amanda scanned the boxes of spare parts.

“I don’t know. A few hours, maybe?”

She turned her attention to the car, walking its length before facing him again. “Okay,” she said. “Do you need help?”

Dawson gave a wry smile. “Did you learn how to fix engines since I saw you last?”

“No.”

“I can take care of it after you leave,” he said. “No big deal.” Turning around, he gestured toward the house. “We can go back inside if you’d rather. It’s pretty hot out here.”

“I don’t want you to have to work late,” she said, and like an old habit rediscovered, she moved to the spot that had once been hers. She pushed a rusty tire iron out of the way and lifted herself onto the workbench before making herself comfortable. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow. And besides, I always liked watching you work.”

He thought he heard something akin to a promise in that, and it struck him that the years seemed to be looping back on themselves, allowing him to revisit the time and place where he’d been happiest. Turning away, he reminded himself that Amanda was married. The last thing she needed was the kind of complication that comes from trying to rewrite the past. He drew a slow, deliberate breath and reached for a box on the other end of the workbench.

“You’re going to get bored. This will take a while,” he said, trying to mask his thoughts.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m used to it.”

“Being bored?”

She tucked her legs up. “I used to sit here for hours waiting for you to finish so we could finally go and do something fun.”

“You should have said something.”

“When I couldn’t take it anymore, I would. But I knew that if I pulled you away too often, Tuck wouldn’t have let me come around anymore. That’s also why I didn’t keep you talking the whole time.”

Her face was partly in shadow, her voice a seductive call. Too many memories, with her sitting there the way she used to, talking like this. He lifted the carburetor from the box, inspecting it. It was refurbished but obviously done well, and he set it aside before skimming the work order.

He moved to the front of the car, popped the hood, and peered in. When he heard her clear her throat, he peeked at her.

“Well, considering Tuck’s not around,” she said, “I suppose we can talk all we want now, even if you are working.”

“Okay.” He stood straighter and stepped toward the workbench. “What do you want to talk about?”

She thought about it. “Okay, how about this? What do you remember most about the first summer we were together?”

He reached for a set of wrenches, considering the question. “I remember wondering why on earth you wanted to spend time with me.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I had nothing and you had everything. You could have dated anyone. And though we tried to lie low, I knew even then that it would only cause you problems. It didn’t make sense to me.”

She rested her chin on her knees, hugging them tightly to her body. “You know what I remember? I remember the time you and I drove to Atlantic Beach. When we saw all the starfish? It was like they’d all washed up at once, and we walked the entire length of the beach, tossing them back into the water. And later, we split a burger and fries and watched the sun go down. We must have talked for twelve straight hours.”

She smiled before going on, knowing that he was remembering as well. “That’s why I loved being with you. We could do the simplest things, like toss starfish into the ocean and share a burger and talk and even then I knew that I was fortunate. Because you were the first guy who wasn’t constantly trying to impress me. You accepted who you were, but more than that, you accepted me for me. And nothing else mattered—not my family or your family or anyone else in the world. It was just us.” She paused. “I don’t know that I’ve ever felt as happy as I did that day, but then again, it was always like that when we were together. I never wanted it to end.”

He met her eyes. “Maybe it hasn’t.”

She understood then, with the distance that age and maturity brings, how much he’d loved her back then. And still did, something whispered inside her, and all at once she had the strange impression that everything they’d shared in the past had been the opening chapters in a book with a conclusion that had yet to be written.

The idea should have scared her, but it didn’t, and she ran her palm over the outline of their worn initials, carved into the workbench so many years ago. “I came here when my father died, you know.”

“Where? Here?” When she nodded, Dawson reached again for the carburetor. “I thought you said you started visiting Tuck only a few years ago.”

“He didn’t know. I never told him I came.”

“Why not?”

“I couldn’t. It was all I could do to keep myself together, and I wanted to be alone.” She paused. “It was about a year after Bea died, and I was still struggling when my mom called to tell me that my dad had had a heart attack. It didn’t make any sense. He and my mom had visited us in Durham the week before, but the next thing I knew, we were loading up the kids to go to his funeral. We drove all morning to get here, and when I walked in the door, my mom was dressed to the nines and almost immediately began to brief me on our appointment at the funeral home. I mean, she showed hardly any emotion at all. She seemed to be more worried about getting the right kind of flowers for the service and making sure that I called all the relatives. It was like this bad dream, and by the end of the day, I just felt so… alone. So I left the house in the middle of the night and drove around, and for some reason I ended up parking down by the road and walking up here. I can’t explain it. But I sat here and cried for what must have been hours.” She exhaled, the tide of memories surging back. “I know my dad never gave you a chance, but he wasn’t really a bad person. I always got along better with him than I did with my mom, and the older I got, the closer we became. He loved the kids—especially Bea.” She was quiet before finally offering a sad smile. “Do you think that’s strange? That I came here after he died, I mean?”

Dawson considered it. “No,” he said. “I don’t think it’s strange at all. After I served my time, I came back here, too.”

“You didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

His raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

He was right, of course: While Tuck’s had been a place of idyllic memories, it had also been the place she’d always come to cry.

She clasped her fingers tighter, forcing the memory away, and settled in, watching Dawson as he began to piece the engine back together. As the afternoon wound down, they talked easily of everyday things, past and present, filling in pieces of their lives and exchanging opinions on everything from books to places they had always dreamed of visiting. She was struck by a sense of déjà vu as she listened to the familiar clicks of the socket wrench when he adjusted it into place. She saw him struggle to loosen a bolt, his jaw clenching until it finally came free, before carefully setting it aside. Just as he had when they were young, he would stop what he was doing every now and then, reminding her that he was listening intently to everything she said. That he wanted to let her know, in his own understated way, that she had been and always would be important to him, struck her with almost painful intensity. Later, when he took a break from his labors and went to the house before returning with two glasses of sweet tea, there was a moment, just a moment, when she was able to imagine a different life that might have been hers, the kind of life she knew that she’d always really wanted.

When the late afternoon sun hung low over the pines, Dawson and Amanda finally left the garage, walking slowly back toward her car. Something had changed between them in the last few hours—a fragile rebirth of the past, perhaps—that both thrilled and terrified her. Dawson, for his part, ached to slip his arm around her as they walked side by side, but sensing her confusion he stopped himself.

Amanda’s smile was tentative when they finally reached her door. She looked up at him, noticing his thick, full eyelashes, the kind that any woman would envy.

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” she admitted.

He shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m sure you and your mom will have a good time.”

Maybe, she thought, but probably not. “Will you lock up when you go?”

“Of course,” he said, noticing the way the sunlight skimmed over her glowing skin, the stray wisps of hair that lifted in the gentle breeze. “How do you want to do this tomorrow? Should I meet you up there or do you want me to follow you?”

She weighed the options, feeling conflicted. “There’s no reason to bring two cars, is there?” she finally asked. “Why don’t we just meet here around eleven and drive up together?”

He nodded and looked at her, neither of them moving. Finally, he took a slight step backward, breaking the spell, and Amanda felt herself exhale. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.

After she slid onto the front seat of her car, Dawson closed the door behind her. His body was outlined against the setting sun, almost giving her the impression that he was a stranger. Feeling suddenly awkward, she pawed through her purse to find her keys, noting that her hands were trembling.

“Thanks for lunch,” she said.

“Anytime,” he answered.

Peeking in the rearview mirror as she pulled away, she saw that Dawson was still standing where she’d left him, as if hoping she’d change her mind and turn the car around. She felt the stirrings of something dangerous, something she’d been trying to deny.

He still loved her, she was certain of that now, and the realization was intoxicating. She knew it was wrong, and she tried to force the feeling away, but Dawson and their past had taken root once more, and she could no longer deny the simple truth that for the first time in years, she’d felt like she’d finally come home.