Message in a Bottle - Nicholas Sparks [88]
“If you keep eating it like you do, you’re going to turn into a rabbit.”
She laughed and poured on the salad dressing. “If that were the case,” she said, looking at his plate, “if you keep eating that seafood, you’ll turn into a shark.”
“I am a shark,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“You may be a shark, but if you keep teasing me, you’ll never get the chance to prove it with me.”
He smiled. “Why don’t I prove it this weekend?”
“When? You’ll be working this weekend.”
“Not this weekend. Believe it or not, I’ve cleared my schedule so that we can spend some time together. We haven’t spent a whole weekend alone since I don’t know when.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. Maybe sailing, maybe something else. Whatever you want to do.”
She laughed. “Well, I did have big plans—my trip to Paris for a little shopping, a quick safari or two… but I guess I can rearrange things.”
“Then it’s a date.”
As the days passed, the image of the dream began to fade. Each time Garrett talked to Theresa, he found himself feeling a little more renewed. He also spoke to Kevin a couple of times, and his enthusiasm for Garrett’s presence in their lives helped him regain his footing as well. Even though the heat and humidity of August seemed to make time pass more slowly than usual, he kept himself as busy as he could, doing his best not to think about the complexities of his new situation.
Two weeks later—a few days before he was leaving for Boston—Garrett was cooking in the kitchen when the phone rang.
“Hiya, stranger,” she said. “Got a few minutes?”
“I always have a few minutes to talk when it comes to you.”
“I was just calling to find out what time your flight is coming in. You weren’t sure the last time we talked.”
“Hold on,” he said, rummaging through the kitchen drawer for his itinerary. “Here it is—I’ll be getting into Boston a few minutes after one.”
“That works out perfectly. I’ve got to drop Kevin off a few hours earlier, and it’ll give me time to get the apartment in shape.”
“Cleaning up for me?”
“You get the full treatment. I’m even going to dust.”
“I feel honored.”
“You should. Only you and my parents get that kind of attention.”
“Should I pack a pair of white gloves to make sure you’ve done a good job?”
“If you do, you won’t live to see the evening.”
He laughed and changed the subject. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again,” he said earnestly. “These last three weeks were a lot harder than the first two.”
“I know. I could hear it in your voice. You were really down for a few days, and… well, I was beginning to get worried about you.”
He wondered whether she suspected the reason for his melancholy. Clearing his mind, he went on. “I was, but I’m over it now. I’ve already packed my bags.”
“I hope you didn’t take up any space with unnecessary items.”
“Like what?”
“Like… I don’t know… pajamas.”
He laughed. “I don’t own any pajamas.”
“That’s good. Because even if you did, you wouldn’t need them.”
Three days later, Garrett Blake arrived in Boston.
After picking him up from the airport, Theresa showed him around the city. They had lunch at Faneuil Hall, watched the skullers gliding on the Charles River, and took a quick tour of the Harvard campus. As usual, they held hands most of the day, reveling in each other’s company.
More than once, Garrett found himself wondering why the last three weeks had been so difficult for him. He knew that part of his anxiety stemmed from the dream, but spending time with Theresa made the dream’s troubling feelings seem distant and insubstantial. Every time Theresa laughed or squeezed his hand, she reaffirmed the feelings he’d had when she was last in Wilmington, banishing the dark thoughts that plagued him in her absence.
When the day began to cool and the sun dipped below the trees, Theresa and Garrett stopped for some Mexican food to bring back to her apartment. Sitting on her living room floor in the glow of candlelight, Garrett looked around the room.
“You have a nice place,” he said, forking up some beans with a tortilla chip. “For some reason, I thought