The Guardian(33)
Author: Nicholas Sparks

“That’s not the right question to ask. The question is, do you believe that? If you do, you’ll have to be ready to deal with it. Because if it gets worse from here, no one’s going to be able to help you.”

The Guardian

The conversation left Mike feeling off-kilter. Sides was obviously a smart guy, and though Mike was feeling better about his legal prospects, his relief was offset by Sides’s warning.

Was it over with Richard now?

Mike paused outside his truck and thought about it. He pictured Richard’s face in the bar again. He saw the smirk, and with that, the answer came to him.

This wasn’t going to stop, he knew. Richard was just getting started.

And as he crawled into the truck, he heard Sides’s voice again.

No one’s going to be able to help you.

The Guardian

That evening, Mike and Julie did their best to have as normal a night as possible. They grabbed a pizza on the way home, then watched a movie, but neither bothered to hide the fact that whenever a car drove up the street, they both stiffened until it had passed. They kept the curtains drawn and kept Singer inside. Even Singer picked up on their nervousness. Pacing the house as if on patrol, he neither barked nor growled. When he closed his eyes to doze, he did so with one ear cocked forward.

The only thing unusual about the night was that it seemed too quiet. Because Julie’s phone had been switched to an unlisted number, it hadn’t rung. She had decided to give the number to only a few select people, and she’d told Mabel not to offer it to clients. If Richard can’t call, she thought, maybe he’ll get the message.

Julie shifted on the couch. Maybe.

After dinner, she’d asked Mike about his meeting with the lawyer, and Mike had told her what Sides had said-namely, that he didn’t think Mike had all that much to worry about. But to Julie’s vigilant eye, Mike’s demeanor suggested that Sides had said a good deal more than that.

The Guardian

Across town, Richard stood above the tray of chemicals in his darkroom, his face glowing red, watching as the image on the photographic paper slowly took form. The process still struck him as mysterious-ghosts and shadows, darkening, becoming real. Becoming Julie.

Her eyes shimmered back at him in the shallow pan, shimmered all around him.

Always, he returned to the photography, the single constant in his life. Staring at the beauty of reflected light and shadows on the images brought a sense of purpose, reminding him that he controlled his own destiny.

He was still exhilarated from the other night. Julie’s imagination was running wild, no doubt. Even now, she was probably wondering where he was, what he was thinking, what he would do next. As if he were some kind of monster, the bogeyman of childhood nightmares. He wanted to laugh. How could such a terrible thing make him feel so good?

And Mike, charging in like the cavalry at the bar. So utterly predictable. He’d almost wanted to laugh then, too. No challenge with that one. Julie, though . . .

So emotional. So brave.

So alive.

Studying the photograph in front of him, he again took note of the similarities between Julie and Jessica. Same eyes. Same hair. Same air of innocence. From the moment he’d walked into the salon, he’d thought they could be sisters.

Richard shook his head, feeling the memory of Jessica pull at him.

They had rented a house in Bermuda for their honeymoon, not far from large resorts. It was quiet and romantic, with ceiling fans and white wicker furniture and a porch that faced the ocean. There was a private beach where they could spend hours in the sun alone, just the two of them.

Oh, how he’d been looking forward to that! He’d taken dozens of photographs of her during the first couple of days.

He loved her skin; it was soft and unlined, burnished in its coat of oil. By the third day, her skin had darkened to bronze, and in her white cotton dress, she was dazzling. That night, he’d wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and slowly peel the dress from her body and make love to her beneath the sky.

But she’d wanted to go dancing. At the resort.

No, he’d said, let’s stay here. It’s our honeymoon.

Please, she’d said. For me. Will you do this for me?

They went, and it was loud and filled with drunks, and Jessica was loud and kept on drinking. Her words began to slur, and later she swayed as she made her way to the rest room. She bumped into a young man and nearly spilled his drink. The young man touched her arm and laughed. Jessica laughed with him.

Richard seethed as he watched it happen. It embarrassed him. It angered him. But he would forgive her, he told himself. She was young and immature. He would forgive her, because he was her husband and he loved her. But she would have to promise not to do it again.

But that evening, when they were back at the house, he tried to talk to her and she wouldn’t listen.

I was just having fun, she’d said. You could have tried to have fun, too.

How could I, with my new wife flirting with strangers?

I wasn’t flirting.

I saw you.

Stop acting crazy.

What did you say to me? What did you say?

Ow . . . let me go . . . you’re hurting me. . . .

What did you say?

Ow . . . please . . . Ow!

What did you say?

In the end, she’d disappointed him, Richard thought. And Julie had disappointed him, too. The grocery store, the salon, the way she’d hung up on him. He was beginning to lose faith, but she’d redeemed herself at the bar. She hadn’t been able to ignore him, she hadn’t been able to simply walk away. No, he thought, she’d had to talk to him, and though her words were spiteful, he knew what she was really feeling. Yes, he knew, she cared for him, for weren’t anger and love opposite sides of the same coin? Great anger wasn’t possible without great love . . . and she’d been so angry.

The thought made him soar.

Richard left the darkroom and made his way to the bedroom. On the bed, amid the clutter of the cameras and lenses, he reached for the cell phone. His home phone, he knew, would leave a traceable record, but he had to hear her voice tonight, even if it was only on the machine. When he heard her voice, he could see the two of them at the theater again, tears in her eyes, he could hear her breath speed up as the Phantom decided whether to let his lover leave him or whether both of them should die.

He dialed the number, then closed his eyes in anticipation. But instead of Julie’s familiar voice, there was a recording from the phone company. He ended the call and dialed again, more carefully this time, but got the same recorded message.

Richard stared at the phone. Oh, Julie, he wondered, why? Why?

Twenty-nine

The Guardian

After the tumult of the past month, the next week of Julie’s life was startlingly quiet. She didn’t see Richard anywhere during the week or on the following weekend, Monday had been equally uneventful, and she kept her fingers crossed that today would be no different.

It seemed as if it would. Her phone was evidence to the fact that unlisted, unforwarded numbers were an effective way to stop unwanted calls, and though it was a welcome relief not to worry about it, she’d begun thinking that she might as well bury the phone in the backyard, since it was obvious that no one was ever going to give her a ring just to shoot the breeze, ever again, for the rest of her life.

Only four people-Mabel, Mike, Henry, and Emma-knew the number, and since she spent all day with Mabel and all night with Mike, neither one of them had reason to give her a jingle. Henry had never called in all the years she’d known him, which pretty much left Emma as the only person who might even consider calling. But after hearing how the calls had rattled Julie, Emma was apparently giving her a break, not wanting to be responsible for peeling Julie off the ceiling.

Okay, she admitted, it wasn’t so bad at first. It was kind of nice being able to cook or shower or thumb through a magazine or cuddle with Mike and know that she wouldn’t be disturbed, but after a week, it got kind of irritating. Sure, she could call out and she did, but that wasn’t the same. Because no one called, because no one could call, it sort of began to feel as if she’d been transported back to the pioneer days.

Funny what a quiet week will do to a person’s perspective.

But it had been quiet, that was the thing. Really quiet. Normally quiet. She hadn’t so much as seen anyone who might be Richard, even from a distance, and she was watching for him practically every minute. And so, of course, were Mike and Mabel and Henry. She’d peek out the windows of the salon in both directions a dozen times a day. When she was driving, she would sometimes turn suddenly onto a different road and stop, staring in the rearview mirror to see if anyone was following her. She scanned parking lots with a professional eye and faced the door when she stood in line at the post office or the supermarket. When she got home, Singer would head toward the woods and she would call him back so he could check out the house. She would wait outside, her hand on the container of pepper spray she’d picked up at Wal-Mart, while Singer scoured the rooms. But within minutes, Singer would come back, tail wagging and drool dripping, looking as happy as a kid at a birthday party.

What are you still doing on the porch? he seemed to ask. Don’t you want to come in?

Even the dog noticed she was acting a little paranoid. But as the old cliché went, better safe than sorry.

And then there was Mike. Mike hadn’t so much as let her out of his sight for more than a few minutes except when she was at work. Although having him around was great, there were moments when it got a little suffocating. Some things, she thought, were better done without Mike right there.

On the legal front, there was mixed activity. Officer Romanello had come by the week before and talked to both of them; she got their story and said not to hesitate to call her if anything out of the ordinary happened again. That made Julie feel better; Mike felt better for it, too, but so far, they hadn’t had reason to call. On another front, the district attorney had declined to press charges, and though he held open the possibility that they might be reinstated at a later date, Mike was off the hook for the time being. He’d done this, he said, not because he felt Mike was justified, but because Richard hadn’t shown up to give his formal statement. Nor had they been able to contact him.

Strange, she thought when she heard about it.

But eight days of nothing, absolutely nothing, had emboldened Julie. Not that she was dumb enough to forget the possible risk-I will never be one of those abused guests on morning talk shows that everyone in the audience considered an idiot for not seeing it coming, she told herself-but a subtle change had taken place, without her particularly being aware of it. The week before, she’d expected to see Richard. She’d expected to see him lurking everywhere, and she’d been prepared for it. What she’d do exactly depended on the circumstances, of course, but she had no qualms about screaming or running or setting Singer loose on the guy if she had to. I’m ready for anything, she repeated to herself, just make your move. Any inkling of trouble and you’ll be sorry, Mr. Franklin.

But a thousand moments of looking and listening and not finding a trace of him had slowly nicked away at her resolve. Now, though she still felt a heightened sense of wariness, she’d reached the point where she didn’t expect to see him. So when Mike mentioned that Steven Sides had left a message, asking him to swing by for a brief meeting after work, Julie told him that she was tired and was going to head on home alone.

“Just come on over when you’re done,” she said. “And if you’re going to be late, give me a call, okay?”

The Guardian

Singer bounded out of the Jeep as soon as she parked and circled the yard, moving farther and farther from her, his nose to the ground, when she called for him. Raising his head, he looked at her from across the yard.

Aw, c’mon, he seemed to be saying. You haven’t taken me for a walk in ages.

Julie got out of the car.

“No, we can’t go now,” she said. “Maybe later, when Mike gets here.”

Singer stayed where he was.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t really want to head out there, you know?”

Even from a distance, she saw his ears droop. Aw, c’mon.

Julie crossed her arms and glanced around. She didn’t see Richard’s car, nor had she seen it while she was driving. Unless he was planning to hike in a couple of miles, he wasn’t here. The only car parked on her street bore the name of the realty company that was offering the lots for sale, along with the name of the lady who was selling them, Edna Farley.

Edna was a regular at the shop. Though Mabel did her hair, over the years Julie had gotten to know Edna. Plump and middle-aged, she was nice in the way that all Realtors were-cheerful and enthusiastic, with a tendency to leave her business cards around the salon-but also a little scatterbrained. When she was excited, which was practically all the time, she seemed to miss the obvious and was always one step behind in the conversation. While others had moved on to other subjects, Edna would continue to discuss the previous one. Occasionally Julie found it annoying, but she tolerated her in an “I’m glad it’s Mabel and not me” kind of way.

Singer’s tail moved back and forth, like a wave. Pleeeease?

Julie didn’t want to go, but she hadn’t taken Singer for a walk in ages.

She looked up the street again. Nothing.

Would he walk a couple of miles on the off chance she’d take her dog for a walk?

No, she decided, he wouldn’t. Besides, Singer was with her, and Singer wasn’t a Chihuahua. All she had to do was yelp and he would come charging like a Samurai warrior on steroids.

But she still didn’t like it. The woods scared her now. There were too many places to hide. Too many places to watch and be watched. Too many opportunities for Richard to hide behind a tree and wait until she’d passed and then creep up behind her, twigs cracking beneath his weight. . . .

Julie felt panic clawing at her again, and she forced it away. Nothing was going to happen, she repeated. Not with Singer nearby, not with Edna pacing the lots. Not without his car in the area. Richard wasn’t here.