The Best of Me(19)
Author: Nicholas Sparks

The more coffee Amanda drank, the more fortified she felt to deal with her mother. They were on the back veranda, overlooking the garden. Her mom was sitting posture-perfect in a white wicker chair, dressed as though she were expecting the governor to drop by for a visit, and dissecting the events of the previous night. She seemed to delight in finding endless conspiracies and hidden judgments in the tones and words her friends had used during dinner and bridge.

Thanks to the extended bridge game, an evening that Amanda had expected to last an hour, maybe two, lasted until half past ten. Even then, Amanda sensed that none of the others really wanted to go home. Amanda had begun to yawn by that point, and she really couldn’t recollect what her mom was talking about. As far as she could tell, the conversations were no different than they’d been in the past, or than those in any other small town for that matter. Talk ran from neighbors to grandchildren, to who was teaching the latest Bible study or how to properly hang a set of curtains or the escalating price of rib roast, all seasoned with a bit of harmless gossip. The mundane, in other words, but leave it to her mother to raise the conversation to the level of national importance, no matter how misguided. Her mother could find fault or drama in her closet, and Amanda was just happy that her mom hadn’t commenced her litany of complaints until after Amanda had finished her first cup of coffee.

What made focusing even more difficult was that she couldn’t stop thinking about Dawson. She’d tried to convince herself she had everything under control, but then why did she keep visualizing the fall of his thick hair over his collar, or the way he looked in his jeans, or how natural it felt as they’d held each other in those first few moments after he’d arrived? She’d been married long enough to know that those things were less important than simple friendship and trust, forged by common interests; a few days together after more than twenty years wasn’t long enough to even begin to form those bonds. It takes a long time to grow an old friend, and trust is built a single moment at a time. Women, she sometimes thought, had a tendency to see what they wanted to see in men, at least in the beginning, and she wondered whether she was making the same mistake. Meanwhile, as she pondered these unanswerable questions, her mom was incapable of silence. She kept droning on and on—

“Are you listening to me?” her mother asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Amanda lowered her cup. “Of course I’m listening.”

“I was saying that you need to work on your bids.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve played.”

“That’s why I said you should join a club, or start one,” she prompted. “Or didn’t you hear that part?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind today.”

“Yes. The little ceremony, right?”

Amanda ignored the dig because she wasn’t in the mood to argue. Which was exactly what her mom wanted, she knew. Her mom had been working herself up all morning, using the imaginary skirmishes of the night before as justification for the inevitable invasion.

“I told you that Tuck wanted his ashes scattered,” she explained, keeping her voice steady. “His wife, Clara, was cremated as well. Maybe he saw it as a way for them to be together again.”

Her mother didn’t seem to hear her. “What would one wear to something like that? It sounds so… dirty.”

Amanda turned toward the river. “I don’t know, Mom. I haven’t thought about it.”

Her mom’s expression was as still and artificial as a mannequin’s. “And the kids? How are they?”

“I haven’t talked to Jared or Lynn this morning. But as far as I know, they’re fine.”

“And Frank?”

She took a sip of her coffee, stalling. She didn’t want to talk about him. Not after the argument they’d had last night, the same one that had become almost routine for them, the same one he would have already forgotten. Marriages, both good and bad, were defined by repetition.

“He’s okay.”

Her mom nodded, waiting for more. Amanda said nothing.

In the silence, her mom straightened the napkin in her lap before going on. “So how does this work today? You just dump the ashes where he wanted you to?”

“Something like that.”

“Do you need a permit to do something like that? I’d hate to think that people were just allowed to do it anywhere they wanted.”

“The lawyer didn’t say anything, so I’m sure it’s all worked out. I’m just honored that Tuck wanted me to be part of whatever he’d planned.”

Her mom leaned forward slightly and smirked. “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “Because you were friends.”

Amanda turned, suddenly tired of all this—her mother, Frank, all the deceptions that had come to characterize her life. “Yes, Mom, because we were friends. I enjoyed his company. He was one of the kindest people I’ve ever known.”

For the first time, her mother seemed discomfited. “Where is this ceremony supposed to take place?”

“Why do you care? It’s obvious you don’t approve.”

“I was just making conversation.” She sniffed. “There’s no reason to be rude.”

“Maybe I sound rude because I’m hurting inside. Or maybe it’s because you’ve yet to say anything supportive about any of this. Not even an, ‘I’m sorry for your loss. I know he meant a lot to you.’ It’s what people generally say when someone close passes away.”

“Perhaps I would have if I’d known about this relationship in the first place. But you’ve been lying about it all along.”

“Did you ever stop to consider that you’re the reason I had to lie in the first place?”

Her mom rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t put the words in your mouth. I wasn’t the one sneaking back here. You made the decision, not I, and every decision has consequences. You need to learn to take responsibility for the choices you make.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Amanda felt herself flush.

“I think,” her mom said, drawing the words out, “you can be a little too self-centered at times.”

“Me?” Amanda blinked. “You think I’m self-centered?”

“Of course,” her mother said. “Everyone is, to a degree. I’m just saying that you take it a bit too far sometimes.”

Amanda stared across the table, too stunned to speak. That her mother, of all people—her mother!—was suggesting this only fueled her outrage. In her mother’s world, other people had never been anything but mirrors. She chose her next words carefully. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about this.”

“I think it is,” her mother responded.

“Because I didn’t tell you about Tuck?”

“No,” she answered. “Because I think it has something to do with the problems you’re having with Frank.”

Amanda felt herself flinch inside at the comment, and it took everything she had to keep her tone and expression steady. “What makes you think I’m having problems with Frank?”

Her mom kept her tone neutral, but there was little warmth in it. “I know you better than you think, and the fact that you didn’t deny it just proves my point. I’m not upset by the fact that you’d rather not talk about what’s going on between the two of you. That concerns you and Frank, and there’s nothing I could ever say or do to help. We both know that. Marriage is a partnership, not a democracy. Which begs the question, of course, of what you’ve been sharing with Tuck all these years. If I had to guess, it wasn’t just that you wanted to visit him. It was that you also felt the need to share with him.”

Her mom let the comment hang, her eyebrow a questioning arch, and in the silence Amanda tried to swallow her shock. Her mother adjusted her napkin. “Now, I assume you’ll be here for dinner. Would you prefer to go out or stay in?”

“So that’s it?” Amanda blurted out. “You throw out your assumptions and accusations, then close the subject?”

Her mom folded her hands in her lap. “I didn’t close the subject. You’re the one who refuses to talk about it. But if I were you, I’d think about what you really want, because when you get back home, you’re going to have to make some decisions about your marriage. In the end, it’s either going to work or it isn’t. And a big part of that is up to you.”

There was a brutal truth to her words. It wasn’t just about her and Frank, after all; it was about the children they were raising. Amanda suddenly felt drained. Setting her cup on the saucer, she felt the anger leach out of her, leaving only a sense of defeat.

“Do you remember the family of otters that used to play out near our dock?” she finally asked, not waiting for an answer. “When I was a little girl? Dad would scoop me up whenever they appeared and bring me out back. We’d sit on the grass watching them splash and chase each other around. I used to think they were the happiest animals in the world.”

“I fail to understand what this has to do with anything—”

“I saw the otters again,” Amanda continued, talking over her mother. “Last year, when we took our vacation at the beach, we visited the aquarium at Pine Knoll Shores. I was excited to see the new otter exhibit. I must have told Annette about the otters behind our house a dozen times, and she couldn’t wait to see them, but when we finally got there it wasn’t the same as when I was a girl. The otters were there, of course, but they were sleeping up on a ledge. Even though we stayed at the aquarium for hours, they never moved at all. On our way out, Annette asked me why they weren’t playing and I didn’t really have an answer. But after we left, I felt… sad. Because I knew exactly why those otters didn’t play.”

She stopped to run her finger around the rim of her coffee cup before meeting her mother’s gaze.

“They weren’t happy. The otters knew they weren’t living in a real river. They probably didn’t understand how it happened, but they seemed to understand that they were in a cage and couldn’t get out. It wasn’t the life that they were meant to live, or even wanted to live, but there was nothing they could do to change it.”

For the first time since she’d been at the table, her mom looked unsure about what to say. Amanda pushed her cup away before rising from the table. As she walked away, she heard her mom clear her throat. She turned.

“I assume you had some point with that story?” her mother asked.

Amanda gave a weary smile. “Yes,” she said, her voice soft. “I did.”

11

Dawson lowered the top of the Stingray and leaned against the trunk, waiting for Amanda. There was a sultry, heavy feel to the air, portending a storm later that afternoon, and he wondered idly whether Tuck had an umbrella stashed in the house somewhere. He doubted it. He could no more imagine Tuck using an umbrella than he could imagine him in a dress, but who knew? Tuck, he’d learned, was a man of surprises.

A shadow moved across the ground and Dawson watched an osprey make slow, lazy circles overhead until Amanda’s car finally rolled up the drive. He could hear the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires as she pulled into the shady spot next to his.

Amanda stepped out of the car, surprised by the black pants and crisp white shirt Dawson was wearing, but the combo definitely worked. With the jacket casually slung over his shoulder, he was almost too handsome for his own good, which only made what her mother had said even more prescient. She drew a deep breath, wondering what she was going to do.

“Am I late?” she asked, starting toward him.

Dawson watched her approach. Even from a few feet away, the morning rays illuminated the clear blue depths of her eyes, like the sunlit waters of a pristine lake. She was wearing a black pantsuit, with a sleeveless silk blouse and a silver locket around her neck.

“Not at all,” he said. “I got here early because I wanted to make sure the car was ready.”

“And?”

“Whoever fixed it knew exactly what he was doing.”

She smiled as she reached him and then, acting on impulse, kissed him on the cheek. Dawson seemed unsure what to make of it, his confusion mirroring her own as she heard again the echo of her mother’s words. She motioned to the car, trying to escape them. “You took the top down?” she asked.

Her question brought him back to her. “I thought we might take it up to Vandemere.”

“It’s not our car.”

“I know,” he said. “But it needs to be driven so I can make sure everything is working right. Believe me, the owner will want to know it’s in perfect working order before he decides to take it out for a night on the town.”

“What if it breaks down?”

“It won’t.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

A smile played on her lips. “Then why would we need to test-drive it?”

He opened his hands, caught. “Okay, maybe I just want to drive it. It’s practically a sin to let a car like this sit in the garage, especially considering the owner won’t know and the keys are right here.”

“And let me guess—when we’re done, we’ll put it on blocks and run it in reverse, so the odometer goes backward, right? So the owner won’t know?”

“That doesn’t work.”

“I know. I learned that when I watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.” She smirked.

He leaned back slightly, taking in the sight of her. “You look stunning, by the way.”

She felt the heat travel up her neck at his words and wondered if she would ever stop blushing in his presence. “Thank you,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she studied him in return, keeping a bit of distance between them. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit before. Is it new?”