Message in a Bottle - Nicholas Sparks [15]
“Sure you do. Start with the obvious, or if you can’t do that, start with what you don’t want—like… is it all right if he’s in a motorcycle gang?”
Theresa smiled and picked from the stack. Her hand was coming together. Another card and she’d be done. She threw down the jack of hearts.
“Why are you so interested?”
“Oh, just humor an old friend, will you?”
“Fine. No motorcycle gang, that’s for sure,” she said with a shake of her head. She thought for a moment. “Um… I guess most of all, he’d have to be the kind of man who would be faithful to me, faithful to us, throughout our relationship. I’ve already had another kind of man, and I can’t go through something like that again. And I think I’d like someone my own age or close to it, if possible, as well.” Theresa stopped there and frowned a little.
“And?”
“Give me a second—I’m thinking. This isn’t as easy as it sounds. I guess I’d go with the standard clichés—I’d like him to be handsome, kind, intelligent, and charming—you know, all those good things that women want in a man.”
Again she paused. Deanna picked up the jack. Her expression showed her pleasure at putting Theresa on the spot.
“And?”
“He would have to spend time with Kevin as if he were his own son—that’s really important to me. Oh—and he’d have to be romantic, too. I’d love to receive some flowers now and then. And athletic, too. I can’t respect a man if I could beat him in arm wrestling.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep, that’s all.”
“So, let me see if I’ve got this right. You want a faithful, charming, handsome, thirty-something-year-old man, who’s also intelligent, romantic, and athletic. And he has to be good with Kevin, right?”
“You got it.”
She took a deep breath as she laid her hand on the table.
“Well, at least you’re not picky. Gin.”
After losing decisively in gin rummy, Theresa went inside to start one of the books she’d brought with her. She sat in the window seat along the back side of the house while Deanna went back to her own book. Brian found yet another golf tournament and spent the afternoon watching it avidly, making comments to no one in particular whenever something caught his interest.
At six that evening—and, more important, after the golf tournament had ended—Brian and Deanna went for a walk along the beach. Theresa stayed behind and watched from the window as they strolled hand in hand along the water’s edge. They had an ideal relationship, she thought as she watched them. They had completely different interests, yet that seemed to keep them together instead of driving them apart.
After the sun went down, the three of them drove to Hyannis and had dinner at Sam’s Crabhouse, a thriving restaurant that deserved its reputation. It was crowded and they had to wait an hour for seats, but the steamed crabs and drawn butter were worth it. The butter had been flavored with garlic, and among the three of them they went through six beers in two hours. Toward the end of dinner, Brian asked about the letter that had washed up.
“I read it when I got back from golfing. Deanna had pinned it to the refrigerator.”
Deanna shrugged and laughed. She turned to Theresa with an “I told you someone would do that” look in her eyes but said nothing.
“It washed up on the beach. I found it when I was jogging.”
Brian finished his beer and went on. “It was quite a letter. It seemed so sad.”
“I know. That’s how I felt when I read it.”
“Do you know where Wrightsville Beach is?”
“No. I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s in North Carolina,” Brian said as he reached into a pocket for a cigarette. “I had a golf trip down there once. Great courses. A little flat, but playable.”
Deanna chimed in with a nod. “With Brian, everything is somehow connected to golf.”
Theresa asked, “Where in North Carolina?”
Brian lit his cigarette and inhaled. As he exhaled, he spoke.
“Near Wilmington—or actually, it might even be a part of it—I’m not exactly sure about the boundaries. If you’re driving, it’s about an hour and a half north of Myrtle Beach. Have you ever heard of the movie Cape Fear?”
“Sure.”
“The Cape Fear