The Best of Me(24)
Author: Nicholas Sparks

He was cramped and cold, and the dry heaves started. Ted began to shake uncontrollably, unable to stay warm.

One o’clock and still nothing. At two, Abee finally came staggering up, barely able to stay upright. By then, even Ted knew they weren’t coming back that night, and the two of them staggered to the truck. He barely remembered the trip back to the property or the way he and Abee clung to each other as they stumbled up the drive. All he could really recall was the feeling of rage as he collapsed in bed, and after that everything went black.

14

When she woke on Sunday morning, it took Amanda a few seconds to recognize her surroundings before the evening came rushing back. Outside, she could hear birds singing while sunlight streamed through the small opening between the drapes. Cautiously, she rolled over and found the space beside her empty. She felt a stab of disappointment followed almost immediately by confusion.

Sitting up, she held the sheet against her as she peered toward the bathroom, wondering where Dawson was. Seeing that his clothes were gone, she swung her feet down, wrapped the sheet around her, and went to the bedroom door. Peeking around the corner, she caught sight of him sitting on the steps of the front porch. Turning around, she dressed hurriedly and stepped into the bathroom. She ran a quick brush through her hair and padded to the front door, knowing she needed to talk to him. Knowing he needed to talk to her.

Dawson turned when he heard the squeak of the door opening behind him. He smiled at her, the darkening stubble on his face adding a bit of roguishness to his appearance. “Hey, there,” he said and reached beside him. He held out a Styrofoam cup; another was cradled in his lap. “I figured you might need some coffee.”

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

“The convenience store. Just down the road. As far as I can tell, it’s the only place in Vandemere that sells coffee. It’s probably not as good as what you had Friday morning, though.”

He watched her as she took the cup and sat beside him. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yes,” she said. “And you?”

“Not really.” He shrugged slightly before turning away, focusing on the flowers again. “The rain finally stopped,” he commented.

“I noticed.”

“I should probably wash the car when I get it back to Tuck’s,” he said. “I can call Morgan Tanner if you want me to.”

“I’ll call him,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll be talking, anyway.” Amanda knew the meaningless chatter was simply a way to avoid talking about the obvious. “You’re not okay, are you?”

His shoulders drooped, but he said nothing.

“You’re upset,” she whispered, feeling sick at heart.

“No,” he answered, surprising her. He slipped his arm around her. “Not at all. Why would I be upset?” He leaned over then, kissing her tenderly before slowly drawing back.

“Look,” she started, “about last night—”

“Do you know what I found?” he interrupted. “While I was sitting out here?”

She shook her head, mystified.

“I found a four-leaf clover,” he said. “By the steps here, just before you came out. Poking out of the ground in plain sight.” He presented her with the delicate green wisp, sandwiched in the folds of a piece of scrap paper. “It’s supposed to be lucky, and I’ve been thinking a lot about that this morning.”

Amanda heard something troubled in his voice, and she felt a flash of foreboding. “What are you talking about, Dawson?” she asked quietly.

“Luck,” he said. “Ghosts. Fate.”

His words did nothing to ease her confusion and she watched as he took another sip of coffee. He lowered the cup and stared into the distance. “I almost died,” he said finally. “I don’t know. I probably should have died. The fall alone should have killed me. Or the explosion. Hell, I probably should have died two days ago…”

He trailed off, lost in thought.

“You’re scaring me,” she finally said.

Dawson straightened, coming back to her. “There was a fire on the rig in the spring,” he began. He told her everything: the fire turning into an inferno on the deck; how he’d hit the water and seen the dark-haired man; how the stranger had led him to the life preserver; how he’d reappeared with a blue windbreaker, then suddenly vanished in the supply ship afterward. He told her all that had happened over the next few weeks—the feeling that he was being watched, and how he’d seen the man again at the marina. Finally, he described his encounter with Ted on Friday, including the dark-haired man’s inexplicable appearance and disappearance in the woods.

By the time he finished, Amanda could feel her heart racing as she tried to comprehend it. “Are you saying that Ted tried to kill you? That he went to Tuck’s place with a gun to hunt you down, and you didn’t feel the need to even mention this yesterday?”

Dawson shook his head in apparent indifference. “It was over. I took care of it.”

She could hear her voice rising. “You dump his body back at the old homestead and call Abee? You take his gun and dump it? That’s taking care of it?”

He sounded too tired to argue. “It’s my family,” he said. “That’s how we handle things.”

“You’re not like them.”

“I’ve always been one of them,” he said. “I’m a Cole, remember? They come, we fight, they come again. It’s what we do.”

“So what are you saying? That it’s not over?”

“Not to them.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Same thing I’ve been doing. Try my best to stay out of sight, keep out of their way as much as possible. It shouldn’t be too hard. Other than cleaning up the car and maybe swinging by the cemetery again, I’ve got no reason to stick around.”

A sudden thought, liquid and blurry at first, began to crystallize in her mind, one that led to the first stirrings of panic. “Is that why we didn’t go back last night?” she demanded. “Because you thought they might be at Tuck’s?”

“I’m sure they were,” he said. “But no, that’s not the reason we’re here. I didn’t think about them at all yesterday. I had a perfect day with you instead.”

“You’re not angry with them?”

“Not particularly.”

“How can you do that? Just turn it off like that? Even when you know they’re out there hunting you down?” Amanda could feel adrenaline flooding her body. “Is this some crazy idea about your destiny as a Cole?”

“No.” He shook his head, the movement almost imperceptible. “I wasn’t thinking about them because I was thinking about you. And since you first came into my life, that’s the way it’s always been. I don’t think about them because I love you, and there isn’t room for both.”

Her gaze fell. “Dawson…”

“You don’t have to say it,” he hushed her.

“Yes, I do,” she pressed, and she leaned in, her lips meeting his. When they separated, the words flowed as naturally as her breath. “I love you, Dawson Cole.”

“I know,” he said, gently sliding his arm around her waist. “I love you, too.”

The storm had wrung the humidity from the air, leaving blue skies and a sweet floral aroma behind. The occasional drop of water still fell from the roof, landing on ferns and ivy, making them shimmer in the clear golden light. Dawson had kept his arm around Amanda, and she leaned into him, savoring the pressure of her body against his.

After Amanda rewrapped the clover and tucked it into her pocket, they got up and walked the property, their arms around each other. Skirting the wildflowers—the path they’d used the day before was muddy—they made their way around the back. The house was set into a small bluff; beyond that, the Bay River stretched out, almost as wide as the Neuse. At the water’s edge, they spotted a blue heron high-stepping through the shallows; a little farther down, a clutch of turtles was sunning on a log.

They stayed for a while, taking it all in before slowly circling back to the house. On the porch, Dawson pulled her close, kissing her again, and she kissed him back, flooded by the knowledge of her love for him. When they finally drew back, she heard the faint sound of a cell phone as it began to ring. Her phone, reminding her of the life she still had elsewhere. At the sound, Amanda bowed her head reluctantly, as did Dawson. Their foreheads came together as the ringing continued, and she closed her eyes. It seemed to go on forever, but once it was finally quiet, Amanda opened her eyes and looked at him, hoping he’d understand.

He nodded and reached for the door, opening it for her. She stepped inside, turning when she grasped that he wasn’t going to follow. Instead, after watching as he took a seat on the step, she forced herself in the direction of the bedroom. Reaching for her bag, she fished out her cell phone, turned it on, and looked at the list of missed calls.

Suddenly, she was sick to her stomach and her mind began to race. She went to the bathroom, shedding clothes as she walked. Instinctively, she made a mental list of what she had to do, what she was going to say. She turned on the shower and searched the cabinets for shampoo and soap, fortunately finding both. Then she stepped in, trying to wash off the feeling of panic. Afterward, she toweled off and slipped back into her clothes, drying her hair as best she could. Carefully she applied the little makeup she always carried with her.

She moved quickly through the bedroom, tidying up. She made the bed and put the pillows back in place; from there, she retrieved the nearly empty bottle of wine and poured what remained down the sink. Sliding the bottle into the garbage pail beneath the sink, she thought twice about bringing it with her, then decided to leave it in place. From the end tables, she collected the two half-empty glasses. After rinsing them with water, she dried them and replaced them in the cupboard. Hiding the evidence.

But the phone calls. The missed calls. The messages.

She was going to have to lie. The thought of telling Frank where she’d been struck her as utterly impossible. She couldn’t bear the thought of what her children might think. Or her mother. She needed to fix this. Somehow, she needed to fix everything, yet underneath that thought lurked a persistent voice, whispering the question: Do you know what you’ve done?

Yes. But I love him, another voice answered.

Standing in the kitchen, overcome by emotion, she felt like she was going to cry. And maybe she would have, but a moment later, anticipating her turmoil, Dawson walked into the small kitchen. He took her in his arms and whispered again that he loved her, and for just an instant, as impossible as it seemed, she felt that everything was going to be all right.

They were both quiet as they made the drive back to Oriental. Dawson could sense Amanda’s anxiety and knew enough to stay quiet, but his grip was tight on the wheel.

Amanda’s throat felt raw—nerves, she knew. Having Dawson beside her was the only thing that kept her from breaking down. Her mind shifted from memories to plans to feelings to worries, one right after the other, a kaleidoscope that changed with every turn. Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed the miles going by.

They reached Oriental a little before noon and drove past the marina; a few minutes later, they were turning up the drive. She vaguely noticed that Dawson had grown tense, his eyes scanning the trees lining the drive as he leaned over the wheel. Cautious, even. His cousins, she thought suddenly, and as the car began to slow, Dawson’s expression suddenly took on a look of disbelief.

Following his gaze, Amanda turned toward the house. The house and garage appeared exactly the same; their cars were still parked in the same spot. But when Amanda saw what Dawson had noticed already, she found that she felt almost nothing. She’d known all along that it would come down to this.

Dawson slowed the car to a stop and she turned toward him, flashing a brief smile, trying to reassure him that she could handle it.

“She left three messages.” Amanda gave a helpless shrug. Dawson nodded, recognizing that she needed to confront this alone. With a deep breath, Amanda opened the door and stepped out, not at all surprised that her mom looked as though she’d taken time to dress for the occasion.

15

Dawson watched as Amanda made straight for the house, allowing her mother to follow if she wished. Evelyn didn’t seem to know what to do. She obviously hadn’t been to Tuck’s place before; it wasn’t an ideal destination for anyone in a cream pantsuit and pearls, especially after a rainstorm. Hesitating, she looked toward Dawson. She stared at him, her face impassive, as if reacting to his presence were somehow beneath her.

She finally turned and followed her daughter to the porch. By then Amanda was already seated in one of the rocking chairs. Dawson put the car back into gear and slowly drove it toward the garage.

He climbed out and leaned against the workbench. From where he was standing, he could no longer see Amanda, nor could he imagine what she would say to her mother. As he looked around Tuck’s garage, something pricked Dawson’s memory, something that Morgan Tanner had said while he and Amanda had been in his office. He’d said that both Dawson and Amanda would know when to read the letter he’d written each of them, and all at once he knew that Tuck had meant for him to read it now. Tuck probably foresaw how things would play out.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the envelope. Unfolding it, he ran his finger over his name. It was the same shaky scrawl he’d noticed in the letter he and Amanda had read together. Turning the envelope over, he pried it open. Unlike the previous letter, this one was only a single page, front and back. In the quiet of the garage that Dawson once called home, he focused on the words and began to read.

Dawson,

I’m not exactly sure how to start this letter, other than to tell you that over the years, I’ve come to know Amanda pretty well. I’d like to think she hasn’t changed since I first laid eyes on her, but I can’t honestly say for sure. Back then, you two kept pretty much to yourselves, and like a lot of young folk you both went still whenever I came around. Had no problem with that, by the way. Did the same thing with Clara. Don’t know if her daddy heard me talk until after we were married, but that’s another story.