The Best of Me - Nicholas Sparks [29]
“You can ask whatever you’d like,” he said, taking a bite of steak.
“What happened on the night of the accident? I heard bits and pieces from my mom, but I never got the whole story and I didn’t know what to believe.”
Dawson chewed in silence before answering. “There’s not much to tell,” he finally said. “Tuck had ordered a set of tires for an Impala he was restoring, but for whatever reason, they ended up being delivered to a shop over in New Bern. He asked if I’d go pick them up, and I did. It had rained a little, and by the time I was getting back to town it was already dark.”
He paused, trying yet again to make sense of the impossible. “There was an oncoming car and the guy was speeding. Or woman. I never did find out. Anyway, whoever it was crossed over the centerline just as I was closing in, and I jerked the wheel to make room. Next thing I knew, he was flying past me and the truck was halfway off the road. I saw Dr. Bonner, but…” The images were still clear, the images were always clear, an unchanging nightmare. “It was like the whole thing was happening in slow motion. I slammed on the brakes and kept turning the wheel, but the roads and grass were slick, and then…”
He trailed off. In the silence, Amanda touched his arm. “It was an accident,” she whispered.
Dawson said nothing, but when he shuffled his feet, Amanda asked the obvious. “Why did you go to jail? If you weren’t drinking or speeding?”
When he shrugged, she realized she already knew the answer. It was as clear as the spelling of his last name.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the words sounding inadequate.
“I know. But don’t feel sorry for me,” he said. “Feel sorry for Dr. Bonner’s family. Because of me, he never came home. Because of me, his kids grew up without a father. Because of me, his wife still lives alone.”
“You don’t know that,” she countered. “Maybe she remarried.”
“She didn’t,” he said. Before she could ask how he knew this, he started in on his plate again. “But what about you?” Dawson asked abruptly, as if stowing their previous conversation away and slamming the lid shut, making her regret she’d brought it up. “Catch me up on what you’ve been doing since we last saw each other.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
He reached for the bottle of wine and poured more for both of them. “How about you start with college?”
Amanda capitulated, filling him in on her life, initially in broad strokes. Dawson listened intently, asking questions as she talked, probing for more detail. The words began to come easily. She told him about her roommates, about her classes and the professors who had most inspired her. She admitted that the year she spent teaching was nothing like she expected, if only because she could barely grasp the idea that she was no longer a student. She talked about meeting Frank, though saying his name made her feel strangely guilty, and she didn’t mention him again. She told Dawson a little about her friends and some of the places she’d traveled over the years, but mainly she talked about her kids, describing their personalities and challenges and trying not to boast too much about their accomplishments.
Occasionally, when she’d finished a thought, she’d ask Dawson about his life on the rig, or what his days at home were like, but usually he’d steer the conversation back to her. He seemed genuinely interested in her life, and she found that it felt oddly natural to ramble on, almost like they were picking up the thread of a long-interrupted conversation.
Afterward, she tried to recall the last time she and Frank had talked like this, even when they were out alone. These days, Frank would drink and do most of the talking; when they discussed the kids, it was always about how they were doing in school or any problems they might be having and how best to solve them. Their conversations were efficient and purpose-driven, and he seldom asked about her day or her interests. Part of that, she knew, was endemic to any long