Nights in Rodanthe - Nicholas Sparks [46]
By noon, the wind had died down enough for them to venture out and stand on the porch. The sky above them was beginning to clear, but the beach was littered with debris: old tires and washed-out steps from homes that had been set too close to the water and had been caught by the wind-swollen tides. The air was growing warmer; it was still too cold to stay outside without a jacket, but Adrienne removed her gloves so she could feel Paul’s hand in her own.
The power came back on with a flicker around two, went out again, and came on for good twenty minutes later. The food in the refrigerator hadn’t spoiled, so Adrienne broiled a couple of steaks, and they lingered over a long meal and their third bottle of wine. Afterward they took a bath together. Paul sat behind her, and as she rested her head on his chest, he ran the washcloth over her stomach and breasts. Adrienne closed her eyes, sinking into his arms, feeling the warm water wash over her skin.
That night, they went into town. Rodanthe was coming back to life after the storm, and they spent part of the evening in a dingy bar, listening to music from the jukebox and dancing to a few of the songs. The bar was crowded with locals who wanted to share their stories of the storm, and Paul and Adrienne were the only ones who braved the floor. He pulled her close and they rotated slowly in circles, her body against his, oblivious to the chatter and stares from the other patrons.
On Sunday, Paul took down the hurricane guards and stored them, then put the rockers back in place on the porch. The sky had cleared for the first time since the storm, and they walked the beach, just as they’d done on their first night together, noticing how much had changed since then. The ocean had carved long, violent grooves where it had washed away parts of the beach, and a number of trees had toppled over. Less than half a mile away, Paul and Adrienne found themselves staring at a house, half on the pilings, half on the sand, that had been victim to the storm surge. Most of the walls had buckled, the windows were smashed, and part of the roof had blown away. A dishwasher lay on its side near a pile of broken slats that once looked to be the porch. Near the road, a group of people had gathered, taking pictures for insurance purposes, and for the first time they realized how bad the storm had really been.
When they started back, the tide was rolling in. They were walking slowly, their shoulders touching slightly, when they came across the conch. Its ribboned exterior was half-buried in the sand and surrounded by thousands of tiny fragments of broken shells. When Paul handed it to her, she raised it to her ear, and it was then that he teased her about her claim to hear the ocean. He put his arms around her then, telling her that she was as perfect as the shell they’d just found. Although Adrienne knew she would keep it forever, she didn’t have any idea how much it would eventually come to mean to her.
All she knew was that she was standing in the arms of a man she loved, wishing that he would be able to hold her this way forever.
On Monday morning, Paul slipped out of bed before she was awake, and though he’d claimed ignorance in the kitchen, he surprised her by bringing breakfast to her on a tray in bed, rousing her with the aroma of fresh coffee. He sat with her as she ate, laughing as she leaned against the pillows, trying and failing to keep the sheet high enough to cover her breasts. The French toast was delicious, the bacon was crispy without being burned, and he’d added just the right amount of grated cheddar cheese to the scrambled eggs.
Though her children had occasionally made her breakfast in bed on Mother’s Day, it was the first time a man had ever done that for her. Jack had never been the type to think of such things.
When she was finished, Paul went for a short jog as Adrienne showered and dressed. After his run, Paul threw his dirty