Message in a Bottle - Nicholas Sparks [29]
The next day she went to the library and read up on scuba diving. It seemed like the logical thing to do. Her years as a reporter had taught her to take nothing for granted, to make a plan, and to do her best to prepare for anything.
The plan she finally came up with was simple. She would go to Island Diving and browse around the store, with the hope of getting a look at Garrett Blake. If he turned out to be a seventy-year-old man or a twenty-year-old student, she would simply turn around and go home. But if their instincts were right and he seemed to be approximately her age, she decided she would try to speak with him. That was why she had taken the time to learn something about scuba diving—she wanted to sound as if she knew something about it. And she would probably be able to learn more about him if she could talk to him about something he was interested in, without having to tell him too much about herself. Then she’d have a better grasp on things.
But after that? That was the part she wasn’t exactly sure about. She didn’t want to tell Garrett the complete truth about why she came—that would sound crazy. Hi, I read your letters to Catherine, and knowing how much you loved her, I just thought you might be the man I’ve been looking for. No, that was out of the question, and the other option didn’t seem much better—Hi, I’m from the Boston Times and I found your letters. Could we do a story on you? That didn’t seem right, either. Nor did any of the other ideas that filtered through her mind.
But she hadn’t come this far to give up now, despite the fact she didn’t know what to say. Besides, as Deanna had said, if it didn’t work out, she would simply return to Boston.
She stepped out of the shower, dried off before putting some lotion on her arms and legs, and dressed in a short-sleeved white blouse, denim shorts, and a pair of white sandals. She wanted to look casual, and she did. What she didn’t want was to be noticed right off the bat. After all, she didn’t know what to expect, and she wanted the opportunity to evaluate the situation on her own terms, without having to deal with anyone else.
When she was finally ready to leave, she found the phone book, thumbed through it, and scribbled the address of Island Diving on a piece of paper. Two deep breaths later, she was walking down the hall. Again she repeated Deanna’s mantra.
Her first stop was at a convenience store, where she bought a map of Wilmington. The clerk had also given her directions, and she found her way easily, despite the fact that Wilmington was larger than she had imagined. The streets were packed with cars, especially as she passed by the bridges that led to the islands right off the coast. Kure Beach, Carolina Beach, and Wrightsville Beach were reached by bridges that crossed from the city, and that was where most of the traffic seemed to be headed.
Island Diving was located near the marina. Once she made her way through town, the traffic became a little less congested, and after reaching the road she needed, she slowed the car and looked for the shop.
From where she had turned, it wasn’t far. Just as she had hoped, a few other cars were parked on the side of the building. She pulled into a space a few spots from the entrance.
It was an older wooden building, faded from the salt air and sea breezes, with one side of the store facing the Atlantic Intra-coastal Waterway. The hand-painted sign hung on two rusty metal chains, and the windows had the dusty look of a thousand rainstorms.
She stepped out of her car, brushed the hair from her face, and started toward the entrance. She paused before opening the door to take a deep breath and collect her thoughts, then stepped inside, doing her best to pretend she was there for ordinary reasons.
She browsed through the store, walking among the aisles, watching assorted customers pull and replace items from the racks. She kept an eye out for anyone who appeared to work there. She glanced furtively at every man in