Message in a Bottle - Nicholas Sparks [43]
As they talked on, the sky turned to black and fog began to settle in around them. With the boat rocking slightly in the waves, a kind of intimacy descended upon them. The fresh air, the breeze in their faces, and the gentle movement of the boat all conspired to ease their earlier nervousness.
Afterward Theresa tried to remember the last time she’d had a date like this. Not once did she feel any pressure from Garrett to see him again, nor did he seem to expect something more from her this evening. Most of the men she met in Boston seemed to share the attitude that if they went out of their way to have a pleasant evening, then something was owed in return. It was an adolescent attitude—but typical nonetheless—and she found the change refreshing.
When they reached a quiet point in the conversation, Garrett leaned back and ran his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes and seemed to be savoring a silent moment for himself. While he was doing that, Theresa quietly put the used plates and napkins back into the basket to keep them from blowing into the ocean. When Garrett was ready, he rose from his seat.
“I think it’s about time we start back,” he said, almost as if regretting that the trip was coming to an end.
A few minutes later the boat was under way again, and she noticed that the wind was much stronger than it had been earlier. Garrett stood at the wheel, keeping Happenstance on course. Theresa stood next to him with her hand on the railing, running through their conversation again and again in her head. Neither of them spoke for a long while, and Garrett Blake found himself wondering why he felt so off balance.
On their last sail together, Catherine and Garrett talked quietly for hours, enjoying the wine and dinner. The sea was calm, and the gentle rise and fall of the swells were comforting in their familiarity.
Later that night, after making love, Catherine lay by Garrett’s side, skimming her fingers across his chest, saying nothing.
“What are you thinking?” he asked finally.
“Just that I didn’t think it was possible to love someone as much as I love you,” she whispered.
Garrett ran his finger down her cheek. Catherine’s eyes never left his.
“I didn’t think it was possible, either,” he answered softly. “I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”
“Will you make me a promise?”
“Anything.”
“If anything ever does happen to me, promise me that you’ll find someone else.”
“I don’t think I could love anyone except you.”
“Just promise me, okay?”
It took a moment to answer. “All right—if it makes you happy, I promise.”
He smiled tenderly.
Catherine snuggled into him. “I’m happy, Garrett.”
When the memory finally faded, Garrett cleared his throat and touched Theresa’s arm with his hand to get her attention. He pointed toward the sky. “Look at all this,” he said finally, doing his best to keep the conversation neutral. “Before they had sextants and compasses, they used the stars to navigate the seas. Over there, you can see Polaris. It always points due north.”
Theresa looked up into the sky. “How do you know which star it is?”
“You use marker stars. Can you see the Big Dipper?”
“Sure.”
“If you draw a straight line from the two stars that make up the tip of the spoon, they’ll point to the North Star.”
Theresa watched as he pointed out the stars he was talking about, musing about Garrett and the things that interested him. Sailing, diving, fishing, navigation by stars—anything to do with the ocean. Or anything, it seemed, that would enable him to be alone for hours on end.
With one hand, Garrett reached for the navy blue raincoat he’d left near the