At First Sight - Nicholas Sparks [96]
He wondered how many people would believe Doris if she appeared on television with her journal and told her story. He guessed half the audience, maybe even more. But why? Why would a person believe something so ridiculous?
Pulling up to the computer, he pondered the question, suggesting answers as they came to him. He made notes about how theory influences observation, how anecdotes differ from evidence, how bold statements are often perceived intuitively as truth, that rumors seldom have any basis in reality, that most people rarely require a burden of proof. He came up with fifteen observations and began citing examples to make his case. As he typed, he couldn’t shake the feeling of giddiness, of amazement, that the words were flowing. He was afraid to stop, afraid to turn on the lamp, afraid to get a cup of coffee, lest the muse desert him. At first, he was afraid to delete anything, even when it was wrong, for the same reason; then instinct took over and he pressed his luck, and still the words came. An hour later, he found himself staring in satisfaction at what he knew would be his next column: “Why People Believe Anything.”
He printed it and found himself reading the column once more. It wasn’t done yet. It was rough, and he knew he needed to edit it. But the bones were there, and more ideas were coming, and he knew with sudden certainty that his block was over. Still, he jotted down several ideas on the page in front of him, just in case.
He left his office and found Lexie reading in the living room.
“Hey,” she said, “I thought you were going to join me.”
“I did, too,” he said.
“What have you been doing?”
He held out the pages, not bothering to hide his grin. “Would you like to read my next column?”
It took a moment for her to process the words before she rose from the couch. Wearing an expression of disbelief—and joy—she took the pages. She scanned them quickly, then looked up at him with a smile. “You just wrote this?”
He nodded.
“That’s wonderful!” she said. “Of course I’ll read it. I can’t wait to read it!”
She moved back to the couch, and for the next few minutes, Jeremy watched as she perused the column. Lost in concentration, she was twirling a strand of hair with her finger. It was while staring at her that he gleaned an inkling of what had been causing his writer’s block. Perhaps it wasn’t that he lived in Boone Creek; rather, it was that—subconsciously, at least—he felt he could never leave.
It was a ridiculous notion, one that he would have dismissed had anyone else suggested it, but he knew he was right, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He wanted to celebrate by taking Lexie in his arms and holding her forever. He was looking forward to raising his daughter in a place where they could catch fireflies in the summer and watch the storms roll in from the shelter of their porch. This was home now, their home, and the realization led him to believe that the baby was going to be okay. They’d been through so much already that she had to be okay—and when they got the next ultrasound on October 6, the last they would have before delivery, Jeremy learned that he’d been right. So far, Claire was doing just fine.
So far.
Nineteen
When he finally realized what was happening, everything seemed fuzzy and out of focus, but since he was dreaming, he supposed that could be excused. All he knew for sure was that the first word out of his mouth that morning was “Ouch.”
“Wake up,” Lexie said, poking him again.
Still groggy, he pulled the sheet higher. “Why are you elbowing me? It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s almost five, not the middle of the night. But I think it’s time.”
“Time for what?” he grumbled.
“To go to the hospital.”
Once the words registered, he bolted upright, flinging back the sheet. He wiped the sleep from his eyes. “You’re having contractions?