The Guardian(23)
Author: Nicholas Sparks

No, she thought, I won’t forget you. Ever. And neither will Mike.

That’s what makes him different, too.

She stayed until the mosquitoes began to circle. One landed on her arm and she slapped it away, glad she’d come but knowing she should probably be going. Mike was going to pick her up in less than an hour, and she wanted to be ready.

A breath of wind shook the leaves above, sounding like the faint rattle of shaken pebbles in a jar. After a moment it stopped, as if someone had muted the sound. But then it wasn’t quiet anymore; from the road she heard a passing car, the sound of the engine rising and falling, before disappearing. A child’s voice carried from the distant houses. There was a faint brushing sound, something scraping the bark of a nearby tree. A cardinal broke from the branches, and glancing over her shoulder, Julie saw Singer swivel his head, his ears twitching. He remained rooted in place, however, and Julie saw nothing. She frowned slightly and crossed her arms. Turning from the headstone, she tucked her head down and began walking toward the car, goose pimples lifting the hairs on her arms.

Twenty

The Guardian

Mike appeared right on time, and Julie stepped out, closing the door behind her before Singer had the chance to get out. Noticing that he was wearing a jacket and slacks, she smiled.

“Wow,” she said, “that’s two nights in a row that you’re looking pretty spiffy. This is going to take a little while to get used to.”

Julie could have been talking about herself. Like the night before, tonight she was wearing a sundress that accentuated her figure. Small gold hoops dangled from each ear, and Mike caught the slightest trace of perfume.

“Too much?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she reassured him. She touched his lapel. “I like this-is it new?”

“No, I’ve had it for a while. I just don’t wear it that much.”

“You should,” she said. “It looks good on you.”

Mike rolled his shoulders and motioned toward the truck before she could dwell any further on it.

“So-you ready to go?”

“Whenever you are.”

As he began to turn, Julie reached for his arm. “Where are the Band-Aids?”

“I took ’em off. My fingers are better now.”

“Already?”

“What can I say? I’m a quick healer.”

Standing on the porch, she held out her hand like a teacher requesting that a student spit out his gum, and Mike held them out.

“They still look red to me.” She paused before looking up with a curious expression. “How hard did you scrub? It looks like a couple of them were bleeding.”

“It stopped,” he said.

“Goodness,” she said. “If I had known what you’d do, I wouldn’t have said anything. But I think I’ve got something that’ll make them feel better.”

“Like what?”

Julie held his eyes as she raised his hand to her mouth and kissed his fingertips.

“There. How’s that?” she asked, smiling.

Mike cleared his throat. Like I was holding on to a live electric wire, he thought. Or standing in a wind tunnel. Or flying down a mountain on skis.

“Better,” he managed to answer.

The Guardian

They ate dinner at the Landing, a waterfront restaurant in downtown Beaufort. As on the night before, they opted to sit at a table on the patio, from which they could watch the boats pulling into and out of their slips. On the planked boardwalk, couples and families passed by holding ice-cream cones or bags filled with tourist mementos.

Julie put her napkin in her lap and leaned forward.

“Good choice, Mike,” she said. “I love this place.”

“I’m glad,” he said, relieved. “I like it, too, but I usually come for lunch. I haven’t had dinner here in a while. I’d feel funny coming by myself for dinner.”

“You could always come with Henry.”

“I could,” he said, nodding. “Or not.”

“You don’t like going out with Henry?”

“I spend all day with him. It would be like you going out with Mabel.”

“I like going out with Mabel.”

“Mabel doesn’t insult you.”

Julie laughed, and Mike put his napkin in his lap. Julie appeared relaxed and radiant to him, completely at ease in her surroundings.

“How’d your lunch go with Emma?” he asked.

“Oh, it was fun. She’s easy to talk to.”

“Like me?”

“No, not like you. You’re easy, too, but in a different way. I can talk to her about things that we don’t.”

“Like me?” he said again.

She gave him a sly wink. “Of course. What good is going out with somebody if you can’t tell people about it?”

“What did you say? Good stuff, I hope.”

“Don’t worry. It was all good.”

Mike smiled as he reached for the menu. “So would you like to start with a bottle of wine? Perhaps a Chardonnay? I was thinking the Kendall-Jackson might be nice. It’s not too heavy, and I think the oak flavor is just about right.”

“Wow,” she said, “I’m impressed. I didn’t realize you knew so much about wine.”

“I am a man of many talents,” he admitted, and Julie laughed as she picked up her menu.

They lingered over wine and dinner, talking and laughing, barely noticing the waiter scurrying about the table, collecting their plates. By the time they were ready to go, the sky was filled with stars.

The boardwalk was still bustling, but the crowd was younger now; people in their twenties and thirties leaned against the railings that overlooked the water and milled around the bars. A few steps down the boardwalk there were two patio restaurants, and in each, an entertainer was setting up his equipment and making the final adjustments to his guitar. More boats had arrived than the slips could hold, and in the spirit of Friday night, the late arrivals tied up to the boat nearest to them until a few dozen of varying shapes and sizes were clustered together like a floating shantytown. Beers and cigarettes were exchanged freely, boats rocking as people used them like bobbing sidewalks, and strangers were forced to become chummy with people they’d probably never see again, all in the name of having a good time.

As they left the restaurant, Mike offered his hand. Julie took it, and as they began to stroll the boardwalk, their shoes clicking against the wood like the clip-clop of tethered carriage horses, Mike felt the warmth of her hand radiate up his arm, right toward the center of his chest.

The Guardian

They spent another hour in Beaufort, watching and talking until Julie felt any last traces of nervousness evaporate completely. Mike still held her hand, his thumb sometimes tracing the back of hers. They stopped for a piece of fudge and walked shoeless through the grassy park before finding a place to sit and enjoy it. The moon had risen and the stars had shifted by the time they returned to the still-lively boardwalk. Lazy waves slapped against the seawall, and the white glow of the reflected moon slipped across the water. They stopped once more to sit at a weathered table beneath the rotating blades of a creaky ceiling fan. The singer at the restaurant nodded toward Mike-it was obvious they knew each other-and Mike ordered another beer while Julie sipped a Diet Coke.

As they listened, Julie could feel Mike’s eyes on her, and she marveled at how much had changed in the past couple of days. How much she had changed. And how much, she thought, was about to change from this point on.

It was funny that you could know someone for years but still discover something you never noticed before. Despite the hazy lighting, she could see traces of gray in the hair near Mike’s ears; she could see a tiny scar beneath the fold of his brow. Two days ago, she would have said he looked to be in his late twenties; now she could make out smile lines on his cheek and crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes.

The musician eased into another song, and Mike leaned toward her.

“Jim and I used to come here a lot,” he said. “Before you moved to town. Did you know that?”

“He told me. He said that you two used to come here to meet women.”

“Did you know that we were here when he first told me about you?”

“Here?”

“Yeah. We were here the weekend after he came back from Daytona. He told me about this girl he’d met.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That he bought you breakfast a few times. And that you were pretty.”

“I looked terrible.”

“He didn’t think so. He also said that he promised you he’d find you a job and a place to live if you came up here.”

“Did you think he was crazy?”

“Without a doubt. Especially because he couldn’t seem to stop talking about you.”

“So what did you think when I took him up on it?”

“I thought you were crazy, too. But after that, I got to thinking you were brave.”

“You didn’t.”

“Sure I did. It takes guts to change your life like you did.”

“I didn’t have any choice.”

“You always have a choice. It’s just that some people make the wrong one.”

“My, aren’t we feeling philosophical tonight.”

“It happens sometimes when I’ve had a couple of drinks.”

The music stopped then, and their conversation was interrupted when the singer put down his guitar and came over to their table to whisper something in Mike’s ear.

Julie leaned forward. “What’s going on?” she asked.

The singer looked up. “Oh, hey. Sorry for interrupting. I’m taking a break and wanted to know if Mike would like to take over for a song or two,” he said.

Mike turned toward the setup and stared before finally shaking his head.

“I would, but I’m on a date,” he said.

“Oh, go ahead,” Julie urged. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. Besides, it’s obvious you want to.”

Mike grinned and put his bottle on the table; a minute later, the guitar strap was over one shoulder and he was plucking a couple of strings, tuning it. He glanced at Julie, then winked before strumming the first chords. It took only a moment before everyone recognized the song. First, they clapped and hooted, a couple of people whistled; and then, to Julie’s surprise, people began to wave their beers in time as they sang along.

He’d chosen a crowd pleaser on boozy nights, that perennial jukebox favorite “American Pie.”

His voice, she observed, was typically out of tune, but tonight, with this crowd, it didn’t matter. They sang and swayed along in time, Julie included.

When Mike finished, he put down the guitar to a nice round of applause and started back toward the table, offering those who patted him on the back an “it was no big deal” expression. Julie watched him with a mixture of newfound admiration and pleasure.

Mike, she thought, had just made a really nice night even better.

A little later, when they were leaving, the bartender told them that their bill had already been taken care of.

“One of your fans, I guess,” he said.

The Guardian

During the ride home, Julie felt pleasantly surprised at how much fun the evening had been. Mike walked her to the door, and when she turned to face him, she could see in his face that he was thinking about kissing her, but after what had happened the night before, he was unsure how to go about it. Julie looked up at him, giving him the official go-ahead, but instead of moving closer, Mike missed her signal.

“Listen, I had a great time tonight-”

“Would you like to come in for a few minutes?” Julie said, cutting him off. “There might be an old movie on that we can watch for a little while.”

“Are you sure it’s not too late?”

“Not for me. But if you’d rather head on . . .”

“No, I’d love to come in.”

She unlocked the door and led him in. Singer had been waiting at the door and greeted them both before he headed outside. He pointed his nose in the air and barked once, then lowered his head to sniff the yard as if satisfied there were no critters in need of a good chase. A minute later, he’d vanished into the shadows of the trees.

Inside, Mike took off his jacket and slung it over the recliner as Julie went to the kitchen and brought back two glasses of water. Mike was still standing, and she motioned toward the couch. They sat, close but not touching, as Julie picked up the remote and started flicking through the channels. Though they didn’t find a movie worth watching, they did find an old episode of I Love Lucy, and they laughed through that. That was followed by The Dick Van Dyke Show.

By the time the show ended, Singer had returned to the front door and barked again. At the same time, Julie yawned.

“I guess it’s about time for me to go,” Mike said as he stood from the couch. “Looks like you’re getting tired.”

She nodded. “Let me walk you out.”

At the door, Mike turned the handle and pulled; Singer pushed past them on his way to the living room as if he, too, knew it was time to go to bed.

As she watched Mike struggle into his sport coat in the open doorway, Julie flashed to the fact that he had been her friend for years and that moving forward possibly meant the end of all that. Was it worth the risk? she wondered. She wasn’t sure.

And would kissing Mike be a lot like kissing her brother? If she had one, that is?

She didn’t know that, either.

But like a gambler at a slot machine, hoping the next spin would change her life for the better, she closed in before she lost her nerve. Taking his hand, she pulled him toward her, near enough to feel his body against her. She looked up at him, tilting her head slightly as she leaned in. Mike, recognizing what was happening but still having trouble believing it, tilted his head and closed his eyes, their faces drawing near.