The Best of Me - Nicholas Sparks [32]
As he sat alone in Tuck’s garage, he knew he’d been lying to himself in thinking that he’d moved on as well. He hadn’t. He always assumed she’d left him behind, but it was confirmed now. Somewhere deep inside, he felt something shift and break loose. He’d said good-bye a long time ago, and since then he’d wanted to believe that he had done the right thing. Here and now, though, in the quiet yellow light of an abandoned garage, he wasn’t so sure. He’d loved Amanda once and he’d never stopped loving her, and spending time with her tonight hadn’t changed that simple truth. But as he reached for his keys, he was conscious of something else as well, something he hadn’t quite expected.
He rose and turned out the light, then headed for his car, feeling strangely depleted. It was one thing, after all, to know his feelings for Amanda hadn’t changed; it was another thing entirely to face the future with the certainty that they never would.
6
The curtains in the bed-and-breakfast were thin, and sunlight woke Dawson only a few minutes after dawn. He rolled over, hoping to go back to sleep, but he found it impossible. Instead, he stood and spent the next few minutes stretching. In the mornings, everything ached, especially his back and shoulders. He wondered how many more years he could continue working on the rig; there was a lot of accumulated wear and tear in his body, and every passing year seemed to compound his injuries.
Reaching into his duffel bag, he grabbed his running gear, dressed, and quietly descended the stairs. The bed-and-breakfast was about what he’d expected: four bedrooms upstairs, with a kitchen, dining room, and seating area downstairs. The owners, unsurprisingly, favored a sailing theme; miniature wooden sailboats adorned the end tables, and paintings of schooners hung on the walls. Above the fireplace was an ancient boat wheel, and tacked to the door was a map of the river, marking the channels.
The owners weren’t yet awake. When he’d checked in the night before, they’d informed him that they’d left the delivery of flowers in his room, and that breakfast was at eight. That gave him plenty of time before his meeting to do what he needed to do.
Outside, the morning was already bright. A thin layer of haze on the river hovered like a low-level cloud, but the sky above was a brilliant blue and clear in every direction. The air was already warm, foretelling hotter weather to come. He rolled his shoulders a few times and was jogging before he hit the road. It took a few minutes before his body began to feel limber and he settled into an easy pace.
The road was quiet as he entered Oriental’s small downtown. He passed two antiques stores, a hardware store, and a few real estate offices; on the opposite side of the street, Irvin’s Diner was already open for business, with a handful of cars parked out front. Over his shoulder, the fog on the river had begun to lift, and breathing deeply, he caught the living scent of salt and pine. Near the marina, he passed a bustling coffee shop, and a few minutes later, with the stiffness almost completely gone, he was able to pick up his pace. At the marina, gulls circled and sounded their calls as people carried coolers to their sailboats, and he jogged past a rustic bait shop.
He passed the First Baptist Church, marveling at the stained-glass windows and trying to recall whether he’d even noticed them as a child, before searching for Morgan Tanner’s office. He knew the address and finally spotted the placard on a small brick building wedged between a drugstore and a coin dealer. Another attorney was listed as well, though they didn’t seem to share the same practice. He wondered how Tuck had chosen Tanner. Until the call, he’d never heard of the man.
As downtown Oriental came to an end, Dawson turned off the main road, branching