The Guardian(18)
Author: Nicholas Sparks

Mabel swiveled in the empty seat as they were talking; no customers were scheduled for another few minutes, and they had the place to themselves.

“And your faucet’s good to go?”

Julie was busy setting up her station, and she nodded. “He put a new one in.”

“Did he make it look easy? Like you wondered why you had to call him in the first place?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t you hate that?”

“Every single time.”

Mabel laughed. “He sure is something, isn’t he?”

Julie hesitated. From the corner of her eye, she saw Singer sitting by the front door and staring out the window, as if wanting to be let out.

Though Mabel’s question didn’t require a response, there was an element of seriousness to the possible answer, one that she hadn’t stopped thinking about since the night before. She wasn’t sure why the evening lingered in her mind. It wasn’t exciting; it wasn’t even all that memorable. But the night before, with the moonlight streaming through her window and moths beating against the windowpane, Mike had been not only the person she’d been imagining before she trailed off to sleep, but also the first one she’d thought about as her eyes fluttered open this morning.

Julie’s reply came effortlessly as she moved toward the door to let Singer out.

“Yes,” she said, “he is.”

The Guardian

“Mike,” Henry called out, “you’ve got company.”

Mike poked his head out of the supply room. “Who is it?”

“Take a wild guess.”

Before he could answer, Singer trotted up beside him.

The Guardian

It was late afternoon by the time Julie marched over to the garage. Hands on her hips, she glared at Singer.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was all sort of a plan to make sure I’d come over here,” she said.

As soon as she said it, Mike did his best to project his thanks to Singer telepathically.

“Maybe he’s trying to tell you something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that he hasn’t been getting enough attention lately.”

“Oh, he gets plenty of attention. Don’t let him fool you. He’s spoiled rotten.”

Singer, sitting on his haunches, began scratching with his back leg, as if demonstrating his indifference to what either of them was saying. Mike was unfastening the snaps of his coveralls as they were talking.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, “but this thing is driving me crazy. I got some transmission fluid on it and I’ve been breathing the fumes all day.”

“So you’ve got a little buzz going, huh?”

“No, just a headache. I’m not that lucky.”

Julie watched as he pulled the coveralls down and slipped them off, balancing first on one leg, then another, before balling them up and tossing them into the corner. In jeans and a red T-shirt, she thought he looked younger than he actually was.

“So what’s on your agenda tonight?” she asked.

“Just the usual. Saving the world, feeding the hungry, fostering world peace.”

“It’s amazing how much a person can do in a night if he puts his mind to it.”

“So true.” Mike gave a boyish grin. But as Julie ran a hand through her hair, he was suddenly struck by the same nervousness he’d felt the night before, when he’d first walked into the kitchen.

“How about you? Anything exciting planned?”

“No. I have a little cleaning to do at home and a few bills to pay. Unlike you, I have to take care of the little things before I set out to perfect the universe.”

Mike caught sight of Henry leaning against the doorjamb as he studied the stack of papers he was holding, pretending not to notice Mike and Julie, but making sure his presence was known, so that Mike wouldn’t forget what he’d said earlier. Mike pushed his hands into his pockets. He didn’t want to do this. He knew he had to, but he didn’t want to. He took a deep breath.

“Hey, do you have a few minutes?” he asked. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Would you mind going somewhere else? I think I need a beer first.”

Though puzzled by his sudden seriousness, Julie couldn’t deny that she was pleased he’d asked.

“A beer sounds great,” she said.

The Guardian

A short walk up the street near the edge of downtown, Tizzy’s was sandwiched between a pet shop and a dry cleaner’s; like the Sailing Clipper, it was neither clean nor particularly comfortable. A television blared in the corner of the bar, the windows were chalky with dirt, and the air was filled with smoke that curled above the tables like the contents of a lava lamp. For those who visited Tizzy’s regularly, none of those things were important, and there were half a dozen people who practically lived in the place. According to Tizzy Welborn, the owner, his bar was popular because “it had character.” By character, Mike assumed he meant cheap booze.

On the plus side, Tizzy wasn’t a real stickler for rules. Customers needed neither shoes nor shirts to get service, nor did he care what customers brought with them. Over the years, everything from samurai swords to inflatable dates had been dragged through the doors; despite Julie’s rigorous denials, it was in this category that Singer also fell. As Mike and Julie settled onto a pair of stools at the far end of the bar, Singer circled once before lying down.

Tizzy took their order before setting two beers in front of them. Though not as chilled as they could be, they weren’t warm, and Mike was thankful for that. In this place, a customer couldn’t count on much.

Julie looked around. “This place is such a dive. I always feel like I’ll catch something contagious if I stay for more than an hour.”

“But it’s got character,” Mike said.

“Sure it does, big spender. So what’s so important that you felt the need to drag me here?”

Mike wrapped both hands around the bottle. “It’s something that Henry said I should do.”

“Henry?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “He thought I should have said something yesterday. To you, I mean.”

“About what?”

“About Richard.”

“What about Richard?”

Mike sat up straighter in his seat. “About him dropping off that note the other night.”

“What about it?”

“Henry thought it sounded a little weird. You know, him coming by in the middle of the night to do it.”

Julie looked at him skeptically. “Henry was worried about that?”

“Yeah. Henry.”

“Mmm . . . but you weren’t.”

“No,” Mike said.

Julie took a drink of her beer. “Why was Henry so worried? It’s not as if Richard were peeking in the windows. Singer would have gone through the glass if that happened. And the note did say there was an emergency, so maybe he left right away.”

“Well . . . there was something else that happened, too. The other day, someone from the bridge crew came into the garage and he said something kind of weird.”

“Like what?”

While running his fingernails through the carved grooves in the bar, Mike told her what Jake Blansen had said and went into a bit more detail about Henry’s comments. When he’d finished, Julie put her hand on Mike’s shoulder, her lips curling slowly into a smile.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of Henry to worry about me like that.”

It took a moment for Mike to digest her response.

“Wait-you’re not mad?”

“Of course I’m not mad. It makes me feel good to know that I’ve got friends like him who watch out for me.”

“But . . .”

“But what?”

“Well . . . uh . . .”

Julie laughed, gently nudging Mike’s shoulder. “C’mon, admit it-you were worried, too. It wasn’t just Henry, was it?”

Mike swallowed. “No.”

“Then why didn’t you just say that at the beginning? Why put it all on Henry?”

“I didn’t want you to be mad at me.”

“Why do you think I’d be mad at you?”

“Because . . . well, you know . . . you’re dating the guy.”

“And?”

“I didn’t want you to think . . . well, I wasn’t sure you’d . . .”

Mike trailed off, not wanting to say it.

“You didn’t want me to think that you were just saying it so I’d stop seeing him?” Julie asked.

“Yeah.”

Julie seemed to study him. “Do you really have that little faith in our friendship? That I’d just ignore the last twelve years?”

Mike didn’t answer.

“You know me better than anyone, and you’re my best friend. I don’t think there’s anything you could say to me that would lead me to believe that you’re doing it just to hurt me. If there’s one thing I’ve come to know about you, it’s that you’re not even capable of something like that. Why do you think I like spending time with you so much? Because you’re a good guy. A nice guy.”

Mike turned away, thinking she might as well have called him a eunuch.

“Nice guys finish last. Isn’t that what people say?”

Julie used her finger to rotate his face back to hers and met his eyes. “Some people. Not me, though.”

“And what about Richard?”

“What about him?”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.”

She leaned back on her stool, as if trying to bring him into better focus.

“Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound jealous about that,” she teased.

Mike took a drink of his beer, ignoring her comment.

“Don’t be jealous. We went out on a few dates and had a few laughs. So what? It’s no big deal. It’s not like I’m planning on marrying the guy.”

“You’re not?”

Julie snorted. “You’re kidding, right?” She paused, but Mike’s expression made her answer her own question. “You’re not kidding, are you,” she said. “What-did you think I was in love with him?”

“I had no idea.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, I’m not. I’m not even sure I’d go out with him again. And it’s not because of what you just told me, either. Last weekend was great, it was fun, but it just wasn’t there, you know? And then Monday, he just seemed a little off somehow, and I decided it wasn’t worth it.”

“Really?”

She smiled. “Really.”

“Wow.” It was all Mike could think to say.

“Yeah, wow.”

Tizzy walked past and turned the channel on the television to ESPN before checking to see if they wanted another drink. Both Julie and Mike shook their heads.

“So what’s next, then?” Mike asked. “Gonna see good old Bob again?”

“I hope I don’t have to.”

Mike nodded. In the dinginess of the surroundings Julie was luminescent, and he felt his throat go dry. He took another drink of his beer.

“Well, maybe someone else will come along,” he offered.

“Maybe.” Julie rested her chin in her hand, holding his gaze.

“It won’t take long. I’m sure there are a dozen guys just waiting for their chance to ask you out.”

“I only need one.” She smiled broadly.

“He’s out there,” Mike declared. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried. I think I’ve got a pretty good handle now on what I’m looking for in a guy. Now that I’ve been out a few times, things are a little clearer. I want to find a good guy. A nice guy.”

“Well, you deserve one, that’s for sure.”

Mike, Julie couldn’t help but think, was sometimes as dense as marbles. She tried another tack.

“So what about you? You ever going to find someone special?”

“Who knows.”

“You will. If you look, that is. Sometimes they’re right under your nose.”

Mike tugged at the front of his shirt. He hadn’t realized how hot it was, but he felt as if he might start sweating if he didn’t get out of here in a few minutes. “I hope you’re right,” he said.

Again they were silent.

“So,” she said, willing him to say something.

“So,” he said, glancing around the room.

Julie finally exhaled. I guess this is going to be up to me, she thought. If I wait for this Casanova, I’ll be so old that he’ll have to escort me in my walker.

“So what are you doing tomorrow night?” she asked.

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“I was thinking we might go out.”

“Go out?”

“Yeah. There’s a place on the island that’s really nice. It’s right on the beach, and I hear the food’s pretty good.”

“Should I find out if Henry and Emma want to come?”

She brought her finger to her chin. “Mmm . . . how about if it’s just the two of us.”

“You and me?” He could feel his heart thumping beneath his ribs.

“Sure. Why not? Unless you don’t want to, of course.”

“No, I want to,” he said a little too quickly, then immediately regretted it. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. Be cool, he thought. He gave her his James Dean look. “I mean, I think I’ll be able to work that out.”

Julie stifled a laugh.

“Gee,” she said, “I appreciate that.”

The Guardian

“So you asked her out, huh?” Henry said.

Mike was leaning like a cowboy in an old western, one knee bent, his foot pressed against the wall, head angled downward. He was studying his fingernails, as if the whole thing were no big deal.