The Choice(18)
Author: Nicholas Sparks

“I don’t know. It’s early, though.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“Because I want to know how dinner went with Gabby.”

“Is the sun even up?”

“Don’t change the subject. Spill it.”

“You’re being awfully nosy about this.”

“I’m a nosy gal. But don’t worry. You already told me the answer.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly. I assume you’re seeing her today, too?”

Travis pulled the phone away and stared at it, wondering how his sister always seemed to know everything.

“Steph—”

“Tell her I said hey. But listen, I gotta go. Thanks for keeping me informed.”

She hung up before he had a chance to respond.

Gabby’s first thought upon waking the next morning was that she liked to think of herself as a good person. Growing up, she’d always tried to follow the rules. She kept her room clean, studied for exams, did her best to mind her manners around her parents.

It wasn’t last night’s kiss that had her doubting her integrity. She hadn’t had anything to do with that—that was all Travis. And the day had been innocent enough—she’d be perfectly happy telling Kevin all about it. No, her guilt had more to do with the fact that she’d willingly returned for dinner with Travis. If she had been honest with herself, she could have anticipated Travis’s agenda and headed off the situation. Especially at the end. What had she been thinking?

As for Kevin . . . talking to him hadn’t done much to erase the memory.

She’d called him last night after she’d gotten back to her house. As his cell phone rang, she’d prayed he wouldn’t detect the guilt in her tone. No problem there, she’d quickly realized; they could barely hear each other at all, since he’d answered the phone while in a nightclub.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said, “I just wanted to call—”

“Hey, Gabby!” he interrupted. “It’s really loud in here, so speak up.”

He shouted so loudly that she had to hold the phone away from her ear. “I can tell.”

“What?”

“I said it sounds noisy!” she shouted back. “I take it you’re having a good time?”

“I can barely hear you! What did you say?”

In the background, she heard a woman’s voice asking if he wanted another vodka tonic; Kevin’s answer was lost in the cacophony.

“Where are you?”

“I’m not sure of the name. Just some club!”

“What kind of club?”

“Just someplace these other guys wanted to go! No big deal!”

“I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

“Speak up!”

She brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose and squeezed. “I just wanted to talk. I miss you.”

“Yeah, miss you, too, but I’ll be home in a few days! Listen, though . . .”

“I know, I know—you’ve got to go.”

“Let me call you back tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Love you!”

“Love you, too.”

Gabby hung up, annoyed. She’d just wanted to talk to him, but she supposed she should have known better. Conventions had a way of turning grown men back into adolescents—she’d witnessed that firsthand at a medical convention she’d attended in Birmingham a few months ago. By day, meetings were packed with earnest, serious-minded doctors; at night, she’d watched from her hotel window as they’d traveled in packs, drunk too much, and generally made fools of themselves. No harm in that. She didn’t believe for a moment that he had gotten himself into trouble or done anything he’d regret.

Like kiss someone else?

She threw back the covers, really wishing she could stop thinking about that. She didn’t want to think about the weight of Travis’s hand on her hip as he’d pulled her toward him, and she definitely didn’t want to think about the way his lips felt against hers or the electric spark she’d felt because of it. Still, as she headed for the shower, something else was bugging her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Turning on the water, she found herself wondering if—in the brief instant it had happened—she’d also kissed him back.

Unable to go back to sleep after Stephanie’s call, Travis went jogging. Afterward, he’d tossed his surfboard in the back of his truck and driven across the bridge to Bogue Banks. After parking in the Sheraton Hotel lot, he hefted his board and made for the water. He wasn’t alone; there were a dozen others who’d had the same idea, and he waved at a few he recognized. Like Travis, most wouldn’t stay long; the best waves came early and would be gone as soon as the tide shifted. But it was still the perfect way to start the day.

The water was brisk—in another month, it would be nearly perfect—and he paddled over the swells, trying to get into rhythm. He wasn’t a great surfer—in Bali, he’d studied some of the monster waves and shook his head, knowing that if he even attempted to ride them, he’d probably be killed—but he was good enough to enjoy himself.

He was used to being alone. Laird was the other surfer in his group of friends, but he hadn’t gone with Travis in years. Ashley and Melinda, two former girlfriends, had gone surfing with him a few times in the past—but neither ever seemed able to meet him on the spur of the moment, and typically, by the time they arrived, he was just finishing up, which threw the morning out of whack. And as usual, it had been up to him to suggest the activity in the first place.

He was, he realized, a little disappointed in himself for choosing the same type of woman over and over. No wonder Allison and Megan liked to give him such a hard time. It must have been like watching the same play with different actors, the outcome always the same. As he lay on the surfboard, watching the swells approach, he realized that the same thing that made women initially attractive to him—their need to be taken care of—was the very thing that eventually signaled the end of the relationship. How did that old saying go? If you’ve been divorced once, you might be right in thinking your ex was the problem. If you’ve been divorced three times? Well, folks, the problem is most definitely you. Granted, he hadn’t been divorced, but the point was well taken.

It amazed him that all this soul-searching seemed prompted by his day with Gabby. Gabby, the woman who’d falsely accused him, consistently avoided him, overtly antagonized him, and then made a point of repeatedly mentioning that she was in love with someone else. Go figure.

Behind him a swell seemed promising, and Travis began to paddle hard, maneuvering himself into the best possible position. Despite the glory of the day and the pleasures of the ocean, he couldn’t escape the truth: What he really wanted to do was to spend as much time as possible with Gabby, for as long as he possibly could.

“Good morning,” Kevin said into the phone, just as Gabby was getting ready to leave. Gabby moved the receiver to her other shoulder.

“Oh, hey,” she answered. “How are you?”

“Good. Listen, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about the call last night. I wanted to call you when I got back to the room to apologize, but by then it was pretty late.”

“It’s okay. You sounded like you were having fun.”

“It was less thrilling than you probably think. The music was so loud that my ears are still ringing. I don’t know why I went with those guys in the first place. I should have known I was in trouble when they started doing shots right after dinner, but someone had to keep an eye on them.”

“And I’m sure you were the model of sobriety.”

“Of course,” he said. “You know I don’t drink much. Which means, of course, that I’ll probably crush them in the golf tournament today. They’ll be too hung over to even hit the ball.”

“Who were they?”

“Just some other brokers from Charlotte and Columbia. By the way they were acting, you’d have thought they hadn’t been out in years.”

“Maybe they haven’t.”

“Yeah, well . . .” She could hear him rustling and assumed he was getting dressed. “How about you? What did you end up doing?”

She hesitated. “Not too much.”

“I wish you could have come down. It would have been a lot more fun if you’d been here.”

“You know I couldn’t get off work.”

“I know. But I wanted to say it anyway. I’ll try to give you a call later, okay?”

“Sure. I might be out and about.”

“Oh, how’s Molly doing?”

“She’s doing well.”

“I think I might want one of those puppies. They were cute.”

“You’re just trying to get on my good side.”

“That’s the only side to be on. Hey, I was thinking, though. Maybe you and I could head down to Miami this fall for a long weekend. One of the guys I was talking to just got back from South Beach, and he said there were a couple of great golf courses nearby.”

She paused. “Have you ever thought about going to Africa?”

“Africa?”

“Yeah. Just taking off for a while, going on safari, seeing Victoria Falls? Or if not Africa, someplace in Europe? Like Greece?”

“Not really. And even if I wanted to, it’s not like I could get the time off. What made you think of that?”

“No reason,” she said.

While Gabby was on the phone, Travis walked up onto Gabby’s porch and knocked. A moment later, she appeared in the doorway, the phone to her ear. Motioning to the phone, she waved him inside. He stepped into the living room, expecting her to make some excuse on the phone, but instead she pointed to the couch and vanished into the kitchen, the swinging doors swaying behind her.

He took a seat and waited. And waited. And waited. He felt ridiculous, as if she were treating him like a child. He could hear her speaking in hushed tones and had no idea whom she was talking to, and he contemplated getting up and walking out the door. Still, he remained on the couch, wondering why she seemed to have such a hold over him.

Finally, with the doors swinging behind her again, she stepped into the living room.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m a little late, but the phone’s been ringing off the hook all morning.”

Travis stood, thinking that Gabby had grown even prettier overnight, which made no sense at all. “No big deal,” he answered.

The call with Kevin left her wondering again what she was doing, and she willed herself to stop thinking about it. “Let me just get my things, and we’ll be good to go.” She took a step toward the door. “Oh, and I want to check on Molly—she was fine this morning, but I want to make sure she has plenty of water.”

A moment later, with her bag flung over her shoulder, they moved into the garage and filled the water bowl to the brim.

“Where are we going, by the way?” she asked on their way back out. “Not to some biker bar out in the sticks, I hope?”

“What’s wrong with biker bars?”

“I wouldn’t fit in. Not enough tattoos.”

“You’re generalizing, don’t you think?”

“Probably. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Just a ride,” he said. “Over the bridge, all the way down Bogue Banks to Emerald Isle, back over the bridge, and then we’ll wind our way back to this place I want to show you.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Is it a fancy place?”

“Hardly.”

“Can we eat there?”

He thought about it. “Sort of.”

“Is it inside or outside?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said. “I don’t want to ruin it for you.”

“It sounds exciting.”

“Don’t build it up too much. It’s just this place I like to go—nothing spectacular.”

By that time, they’d reached the drive. Travis motioned toward the bike. “This is it.”

The chrome on the bike made Gabby squint, and she put on a pair of sunglasses.

“Your pride and joy?”

“Frustration and angst.”

“You’re not going to start whining about how hard it is to get parts again, are you?”

He made a face, then chuckled. “I’ll try to keep it to myself.”

She motioned toward the basket he’d attached to the back of the bike with bungee cords. “What’s for lunch?”

“The usual.”

“Filet mignon, baked Alaska, roast lamb, Dover sole?”

“Not quite.”

“Pop-Tarts?”

He ignored her gibe. “If you’re ready, we can go. I’m pretty sure the helmet will fit you, but if it doesn’t, I’ve got more in the garage.”

She raised a sardonic eyebrow. “What about this special place? Have you taken a lot of different women there?”

“No,” he said. “Actually, you’ll be the first.”

She waited to see if he would add anything else, but for once he seemed serious. She nodded slightly and walked to the motorcycle. She put on her helmet, fastened it beneath her chin, and threw her leg over the back of the seat. “Where do I put my feet?”

Travis unfolded the rear pegs. “There’s one on each side. And try not to touch the exhaust with your leg. It gets very hot and you could get a nasty burn.”

“Good to know. What about my hands?”

“They’ll be around me, of course.”

“Such a ladies’ man,” she said. “Why, if you were any smoother, I probably wouldn’t even be able to hold on, would I?”

He put on his helmet and in a single, smooth motion climbed on and started the bike, allowing it to idle. It was quieter than some motorcycles, but she could feel the slight vibration through her seat. She felt a distinct anticipatory thrill, as if she were seated on a roller coaster as it was about to start, only this time without a seat belt.